


retrofit future (没有未来)

by coeur



Category: LOONA (Korea Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Blade Runner Fusion, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Cyberpunk, Dystopia, Gen, Introspection, Min Yoongi | Suga-centric, Morally Ambiguous Character, Mystery, Psychological Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 103,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24178162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coeur/pseuds/coeur
Summary: Disillusioned ex-blade runner Yoongi is recalled to pursue and retire renegade replicants, but his search leads him back to old acquaintances and new beliefs in a city that hides more than it reveals.
Relationships: Jeon Jungkook/Min Yoongi | Suga
Comments: 13
Kudos: 39





	1. depression cherry

**Author's Note:**

> based off [this edit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQwtp7s0mzQ) \+ adapted plot elements & quotes from blade runner, blade runner 2049 and do androids dream of electric sheep?
> 
> [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/04qrwuSN0RnmiiooIO2d8W?si=UAygW1s4TJqZZncCHpV-vQ)

He got off by the side of the road, stepping out onto the edge of the pavement where the cement was crumbling. The auto-rickshaw driver waited for him to pay his fare before disappearing into the mess of red backlights, vehicle spewing black smoke. Water was still pouring from the sky – always cold and never stopping. Yoongi counted the change left in his hand before stuffing it into his pocket and quickly making his way to shelter. Someone’s electric pet sheep ambled past him; the animal’s wool matted to the point he could tell it was going to die of disease soon. He’d always wanted one of those.

Above, only more lights and a voluminous grey sky, underlit with a sickly white glow and the reverberating sound of the wellness voice track from the blimp.

He crossed the junction in the harsh light of hovercraft headlamps, trying to dodge the dripping umbrellas of people. A small shop was ahead, nestled in a corner where the crowd thinned out, the green sign neon-lit and comforting.

Convenience store. 

The only other person standing in the rain around here was a thin, haggard man with takeaway coffee. Yoongi tried to avoid looking at him, quickly stepping out of sight.

He went inside for the warmth, those radiator heaters letting steam out, the wet heat comforting. Long shelves of cheap things that he’d been living off for months: bread rolls and packaged ramyun or some onigiri and seaweed-wrapped crunchy orange tobiko.

Yoongi stayed in there for a while, waiting for the cold water in his hair and jacket to dry up, then went to the shelves and bought cheap melon soda, added a ramen cup to the total bill and stirred the noodles in boiling water at the self-cook station.

He went outside to eat and watch the street.

Lights in the distance pulsed from the ebb and flow of the stream of vehicles on the road. He saw their tinted windows and the funny holographic decals pasted on the windshields. A lady came by and shook out her pale silk umbrella before going in.

He'd been at this for two years, content with packaged food and taking hot water from the self-cook stations whenever he could because it tasted better than boiling the mineralised stuff that came out of the tap at home. The rest of it was a diet of food from portable noodle stands and street hawkers, or some pathetic little meal he could whip out of the synthetic ingredients from his refrigerator.

Most of his time was spent living off his savings and waiting until he got the measly unemployment cash bundle, which often came tied with a rubber band, passed to him by some little fellow visiting from the labour department.

The landlord called last week about rent, but he'd had to push it back another month, apologising and trying to come up with another excuse. He hadn’t seen the old man’s face for a long time, and that was only because the guy didn’t even want to look at him now.

In the mornings, he didn't have hot water anymore. They stopped filtering his pipes. The lights went off after a certain time, leaving him to console himself by looking at the thick blue blanket of city lights across the bay that separated him from central urban electric grid. He was slowly getting cut off from the rest of the block.

Yoongi was staring down at the wet sidewalk when someone turned the corner and stopped a short distance in front of him, not moving. He looked up, shoved another lump of noodles into his mouth and scalded his tongue before seeing who it was.

A skinny guy and another officer, both standing there, the officer waving the badge in his face.

“My name Cheon," the skinny guy said in Mandarin. "You are required to accompany me.”

Yoongi stuck his chopsticks inside the cup and took a closer look at his face. “I’m sorry?”

That officer, a roughed-up man with scars on his face, leaned forward politely and tapped on the skinny man's shoulder.

“You are required to come with me,” Cheon repeated, this time in accented Korean, “Mr Min.”

Yoongi stepped out of his spot beside the entrance, walked right to where the dry concrete ended at the edge of the awning and where the rain gathered in puddles. He looked both ways down the street, then turned back to face them.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Not me, is Mr Yeung,” Cheon said, and the officer standing beside them started unravelling restraints from where they were strapped to a belt around his torso. “Now, either you want us to tie you up or you walk with me to the station. We have hovercraft waiting.”

The coffee dude was watching them now, scratching at his chin with a ghost of a smile creeping into his face. Yoongi wondered if he’d heard the scrawny fellow right.

“I am only emissary sent by Mr Yeung. He wants you alive or in pieces. Either way he wants you, and he knows you won’t let us bring you there in body bag.”

The rain was falling harder now. Yoongi sighed. “Mr Yeung?”

They hustled him into a beat-up hovercraft which had a paint job that looked like something had thrown up all over it. The doors closed, hissing and creaking, and it was quiet inside. Old fixtures which were all worn-out, faded upholstery and squeaky flooring.

They were taking off, bobbing up and down over the lines of motor vehicles below. The officer was riding in front. Yoongi had been pushed into a corner on the cracked leather-covered benches at the side, swaying slightly in his seat as the spinner cruised from one side to the next, overtaking other vehicles. He was still poking around in the cup of cold noodles and trying to finish the meal.

Cheon opened up a plastic box and took out a tangerine, which he threw in Yoongi’s direction.

“You eat,” he said. “They told me not to waste food on you until we got you in here.”

Yoongi picked it up from the floor, rubbed it against his trousers and absentmindedly held it up against the window to check the texture of the peel.

“Is real orange,” Cheon said, watching him with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Company treat.”

So he took the peel off and started eating, chewing slowly and taking in the sight of the mess outside: all those buildings edged in red and blue, the too-bright roads, broken billboards, holographic ads with people of all sizes traipsing in between the skyscrapers.

Cheon was still talking.

“Mr Yeung said I was right guy for job. I could handle people like you.” He blew on the blade of his pocketknife and rubbed it clean with the edge of his grimy shirt. “But he thinks you gonna be able to do it better. Better than anyone. He say you also know how to kill?” He turned it slowly in the light, watching the metal glisten. He grabbed another tangerine from the plastic box and started cutting into it carefully.

Yoongi watched him for a while, saw the way he worked through the whole thing: a neat, clean circumference, then slowly peeling the skin away. He had never seen anyone cut an orange with such precision before.

“Are you a surgeon?”

“No?” Cheon raised his eyebrows and threw the circle of peel onto the floor of the vehicle. “There’s problem back there. Mr Yeung want to recall you. Why you quit? Scared you be replaced?” He grinned at him, showing teeth. Yoongi stared back uncomprehendingly. Cheon turned around from his hunched squat to look at the officer riding in front. “You thought that was real badge? I getting better at this then, ha!”

“What are you, then?”

“We are not police. We are organ trafficker.”

“Organ trafficker,” Yoongi repeated. He looked at the leftover orange rind in his hand. “They employ people like you?”

“You are no different,” Cheon said, looking out of the window. “Today I do the job, come tomorrow, who knows. Maybe someone will replace me. Someone better. We are all desperate for money.” He pointed the knife at Yoongi. “I know what you used to do. They want you to go back and do it again.”

\---

The office was located in a grey vaulted building which he’d grown to hate slowly over the years. Yoongi was ushered down a corridor into the same stuffy office. Mr Yeung hadn’t changed any of the decorations at all. He was a pudgy, middle-aged man, had jowls, a combed ridge of greying hair on his round head and a chubby mouth that hadn’t learned how to shut up.

“He cause any trouble?” he asked.

Cheon shifted his eyes from Yoongi’s to Mr Yeung.

“No, sir.”

Mr Yeung flashed them both a grin.

“Take your money downstairs. First floor, three doors to the right.”

Cheon bounded off. Yoongi stayed in the doorway, not wanting to move into the room.

“Close the door, Yoongi,” Mr Yeung said, rolling a fountain pen between his hands.

There was a rotating metal orb in the corner with its red eye trained on the room. The only light in the office came from a small shuttered window, now walled up with dusty blinds. Everything inside was layered with shades of grey and brown: shelves lined with books and files, boxy computer screens tuned into flickering static, an ancient steam-powered radio. The blinds cast sharp white lines on Mr Yeung's face.

“I knew you wouldn’t have come if I asked you directly.”

Yoongi kept quiet.

“You haven’t changed, eh?” Mr Yeung gestured at the dirty swivel chair in front of his table. “Sit down, please.”

Yoongi closed the door and went over, dragged the chair out with the toe of his shoe and sat down. He eyed the cognac bottle on the desk.

“I’m not going to waste your time,” Mr Yeung said, already reaching into a drawer. “You’re a direct person. You want things clear-cut. We like that.” He took out a metal container, the kind used to keep lozenges, and opened it, taking a few pieces of paper out.

“We’ve got four unregistered skinjobs on the loose,” he said, closing the lid of the tin. “Walking the streets in civvies. You know how they operate.”

Yoongi shifted in his seat. “When?”

“It’s been two months. We sent people to find them.” Mr Yeung cleared away the papers on his desk and bent forward to tilt the neck of the desk lamp towards the empty spot on the table. “They came here from an off-world colony. Took spinners, we figured. One of them cleaned out an entire train station. Eviscerated commuters."

That got Yoongi to sit up.

Mr Yeung started placing the things he’d taken out of the tin – passport-sized photographs – down on the worn laminate of the table, turning them around to face Yoongi.

“Look at these very carefully. I want you to commit these faces to memory.”

Yoongi inched forward with reluctance, sliding them across the table with his finger. He surveyed the four faces, slightly bored. No one that he knew.

“Anyone can do this,” he said, leaning back. “You didn’t have to find me.”

“Can _you_ do it?”

“I’d like to know how you got my new address.”

“Cheon over there came along with his sidekick. Wanted a job. I had a job to be done, so I put two and two together. They’re very good at what they do.” Mr Yeung paused, breathing heavily. “We need you back.”

“What if I can't come back?”

“Who else?”

“Give it to Jin-hyung.”

“Perhaps someone should've told you …” Mr Yeung pinched the bridge of his nose. “Poor dude’s in the ICU. Got absolutely butchered during VK, laser punctures to the lung. He’s recovering fine, though.”

Yoongi sat very still.

“I’ll let you see the footage later. It was one of these things –” he tapped his finger on the photo of a dark-haired girl. “The Nexus 9 units, they’re something else. We can’t have them running around in the city like that.”

Later. That meant he’d be coming back.

Yoongi exhaled heavily. “I haven’t got a choice, have I?”

“You don’t. This one –” Mr Yeung looked down at the photographs. “It’s our worst one yet.”

The VK room was a few floors downstairs, hidden away behind a dull green door. There was a large screen inside, the reclining dentist’s chair with the eyeglass device attached to an extended tray, a glass telephone booth that had been repurposed as a control station. No windows, just a ventilating fan installed near the ceiling.

“No weapons,” Mr Yeung explained, pushing Yoongi through a metal detector right in front of the doorway. Yoongi lingered near the wall at the back of the room and scrutinised the thick frames of clear acrylic on the walls. There were words incised into them, safety reminders about operating equipment and the proper way to tie the chair restraints on a person. An anatomical diagram of an old replicant model. A list of contingency questions that he remembered memorising by heart back then.

Mr Yeung switched the lights off and the screen began to whir with a faint stuttering sound. Then it went quiet as the screen slowly came to life, acid-green pixels lighting up.

They could still hear the faint humming sounds of the blimp outside the building.

On screen, a closed-circuit footage of the same room they were standing in. Seokjin was doing the questioning on a suspect. The sound was hollow, the poor quality of it reducing their voices to flat monotones that got to Yoongi’s brain in this very dead and affecting way. A young lady was strapped to the reclined dentist chair.

“– I’ve done an IQ test before,” she was saying. “But I don’t think I’ve ever had one of these.”

“Okay. If you could kindly pay attention to the screen, you’ll notice a word.” This had to be Seokjin. Yoongi squinted at the screen. Their faces on screen were small and so grainy that it began to hurt his eyes.

“Please tell me if you see the word.”

“Yes.”

“You will be presented with a series of re-enactments. You will not need to respond to any of them. However, please refrain from moving excessively as we have to take measurements of your heart rate and pupil dilation in reaction to these images.”

She didn’t say anything. Seokjin went to the console and started the montage sequence. The footage cut to black, skipping forward by a few minutes.

“- Thank you. We will begin with the actual test. Please continue to pay close attention to the screen. Your response time is important for this part.”

A rapid sequence of fuzzy sentences on the projector. There was no sound, just a robotic voice counting off the seconds for every block of sentences.

Mr Yeung was quiet.

Onscreen, Seokjin was walking around, still waiting. Observing the monitor for changes in the breathing rate, pupil dilation, checking their physical responses.

“This is the third part of the test. I will be verbally describing to you a series of events, similar to the image montage which was shown to you earlier. You will be required to give me a verbal response to these questions, drawing on what you feel is the right reaction in the situation.”

He waited for a few seconds, then took the onion skin copies of standardised questions from a table behind him.

“It’s your birthday and someone gives you a calfskin wallet.”

“I’ll decline it.”

Seokjin leaned forward to check the dials on the VK machine.

The footage skipped forward by another thirty minutes. Yoongi wondered why so much time had been given to that section. Normally, it took about twenty to thirty questions - roughly fifteen minutes - to determine if they’d passed the segment.

But he kept quiet.

Seokjin was fumbling under the desk for the stack of extra questions. He had his back turned when the lady lunged out of the chair and shot him in the back, a direct hit. When he turned around, she hit him again. And again, until the barrel was empty. It was a fluid movement with no recoil or hesitation, ending in six seconds.

Yoongi had been holding his breath throughout.

She dropped the gun and ran to the door, pulling at it until the biometric lock gave way and the catch popped open. A fading sound of sharp footsteps down the hall.

Mr Yeung cut off the footage.

“All of them worked alone. This girl – Jinsoul, Seokjin initially caught her on the street without a tracker.”

“She's the dark-haired one?” Yoongi turned to look at him, their faces poorly-lit in the screen light.

“Yes. Batch 97. Seokjin hauls her in on Tuesday, and she escapes on the same day we find out she’s responsible for that train station wipe-out. She’s a combat model, trained to kill. Travelled here in a hijacked spinner.”

Mr Yeung gestured with the remote at the screen again.

“Your second skinjob, although there’s a chance he might not be alive. They customised him with a four-year lifespan.”

The footage switched to a top view of another room, some kind of gym. There was only one person inside, banging on what looked like metal stocks with his bare fists until they bled. Yoongi could see the marks left behind. The boy took a particularly hard stab and jolted back from the force of it, shaking his hands out like he was drying them, sending flecks everywhere.

“What about this one?”

“Jungkook. Also a Nexus 9, same as Jinsoul. Both part of Batch 97, both unregistered. He’s got some kind of underdeveloped pain receptor system which just …” Mr Yeung gestured at the frozen footage, “- allows him to punch himself raw like that. Must be a goof-up they had with the earlier prototype models. Wallace gave us this footage, and it’s the only one they have of him, strangely.”

“They’re both escapees?”

“Wallace lost track of them after they left the colony, but we picked up on old records of the same two entering the stargate, both by different ways.”

The lights went on. Mr Yeung stared at the blank screen for a few seconds. "You'd think they'd have ID-ed them at checkpoints before allowing them in but there was a breach. Someone's head is gonna roll. The other two, the older ones I was telling you about - they've been here a damn long time." He set the remote down. "Those models are eight-generation, if I'm not wrong. Definitely outlawed. They ran into hiding after the blackout to escape the mass lynching."

The image on the screen changed. Two profiles of Nexus 8 models, their pre-incept photos taken before they were created and accessorised with hair and properly articulated facial features. Citadel, a combat model of unknown division, and Electra, a seamstress.

“Will VK work on them?”

“They’re confirmed targets. Don’t waste time with the tests.” Mr Yeung shook his head. “Just ask them a couple of questions, a simple one that gets straight to the point. Judge their reactions. You’ll know. Nexus 8s are naturally a little suspicious of everyone.”

“I can’t … just base it on a gut feel.”

“You can.”

“Why’d he take so long to do the questioning on her?” Yoongi rubbed at his nose. “Something else happened?”

“Wallace gave the Nexus 9 upgrades to their memories. They’ve got a new designer working the controls and the level of realism in the implants is just … mind blowing. You wouldn’t think that a replicant designer could have made any of that.”

“That’s going to affect the test.”

“Well, Wallace has an ethos that they like to use for their ninth-generation models. More human than human.” Mr Yeung paused to light a cigarette. “If you think about it, that can’t be right. You can’t surpass something that you don’t know the true boundaries of. Sounds pretty bullshit to me.”

They went back to the office.

“We thought the skinjobs were coming back for us.” Mr Yeung pushed a stack of papers towards Yoongi. The case files. “Wouldn’t be surprised if they were, but no. Nothing for two months. They’re definitely hiding from something else or taking their own sweet time. There have been rumours of an underground movement, even an uprising - but it’s all speculation.”

Yoongi ran through the papers. Date, time, everything was recorded down. Specifications of the Nexus 9 model, the coordinates of the train station where they last spotted Jinsoul at, even the details of Seokjin’s injury. A photo of the weapon, which didn't look used.

“Why’d they stay here, though?”

“I don’t know.” Mr Yeung took a long drag on his cigarette. “That’s what you’re here for.”

He turned to a prototype photograph and turned it this way and that to read the technical specifications, none of which made much sense to him. He was beginning to feel the effects of two years of absence from the business weighing down on him.

“They’ll live out there for long?”

“Apparently, their customised lifespans aren’t enough for some.” Mr Yeung was unscrewing the cap of the cognac bottle. _Depression cherry_ , the label read. The stuff swirling around inside was a moody red colour, rotten enough to be mistaken for diluted blood.

“So you think they came back here to extend their lifespans.”

“That’s not possible. They would know. You build something into a skinjob, you can’t remove it without screwing up the biological makeup. That’s what Tyrell said, before he died.” Mr Yeung stabbed the cigarette out in the ashtray and poured himself a drink, laboriously unscrewing the bottlecap. “Whatever the reason is, it’s more than that. And you’ve got another spanner in the works.”

He drained the glass in a series of long gulps, then looked at Yoongi pointedly.

“You asked me about it just now. Apparently the VK machines can’t pick up on the differences between their emotional responses and that of humans as well as before. You can say it’s because of a few things. One of them has got to do with the jazzed-up implants I told you about.”

Mr Yeung stared at the empty glass as he talked.

“You have replicants getting better memories and better empathy, and on the other hand you’re getting a flattening of affect in humans. You’re getting desensitised regulars. If I took the VK standard and ran it on some of the most jaded human shitheads out there, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

Yoongi went back to reading the sheets, not saying anything.

“Their Nexus 9s are nearly immune to the VK test. They’re developing a new test at the headquarters - the baseline, I think that’s what it’s called - but that’s going to take too much time. It measures their emotional deviance rather than empathic responses, so we’ll have to learn how to administer that once it’s released to us.”

Yoongi closed the file after a few moments. “Okay.”

“Okay, means you’ll do it?”

“I’ll do it.”

Mr Yeung reached into his desk drawer and pushed an odd-looking gun over the desk towards him. Yoongi picked it up, felt the heft and weight of the metal. He looked at Mr Yeung doubtfully and placed it back down.

“We did away with the old ones.” Mr Yeung waved his hand. “That’s a modified PKD. No ammo. You’ll get clean-cut shots that burn right through.”

A nice upgrade for a returning employee, although Yoongi couldn’t say that he missed handling the weapon much. He slid the gun off the desk and waited for what he really wanted to hear.

“I know what you need, and I’ll pay you the first of it by the end of today.” Mr Yeung gestured at the door, sensing his impatience. “Godspeed.”

\---

Yoongi was alone on the streets again, a long way from home. But he’d been given directions to possible locations where trails had been left off, last known contacts, and there was a good sum of money heading towards his bank account at last. He had a job now, a dirty one at that. One thing at a time, he used to hear Seokjin say back then, because their kind of work never ended.

A small shower had started outside again, this fine misty thing that umbrellas were useless against. The wind blew long, sparkling streams of it sideways, onto cars and shopfronts, swirling across the road.

He ran through the mental images of the Nexus 9 models in his head as he walked, thinking about the sweet face of that kid, Jungkook, and his bloodied knuckles.

“Nexus 8s have been out there for a pretty long time,” Mr Yeung had warned him. “They’ll most likely be able to brush your standard questions off. They’ll recognise you before you realise it.”

And Jinsoul. Mr Yeung had allowed him to keep a photograph of a subway station, the platform strewn with bloodied clothes. They said it was taken some time after she’d escaped.

The goddamned rain never stopped. He went to a public vidphone and called a cab, wondering where Cheon and his burly knuckleheaded sidekick were now. Organ traffickers. They were like unicorns. He’d heard of them but never seen them until now.

The cab was a sleek, black car that looked like a cheap limousine knockoff; windows dark, headlights tinted green and yellow. It made no sound at all, pulling up next to the sidewalk.

 _Coming in five minutes my ass_ , Yoongi thought. _You’re late_.

But he got in, trying not to let the rain get onto the pleather seats. The driver took off before he could even slam the door shut.

“Where are you going?” the driver asked, turning the radio volume down.

“Fifth Avenue,” Yoongi said, fiddling with the seatbelt. “I’ll tell you where to drop me off when we get there.”

He settled back, running his hand over his crossbody bag for the outline of the gun, just to make sure it was there.

“I could’ve fallen out just now.”

The driver switched his radio off. “Sorry,” he said, nonchalantly. “In a rush.”

His fingers that had crazy-looking rings on them – rainbow-coloured flowers, painted glass, some silver filigree things. Yoongi watched the way they blinked under the streetlights as he moved his hand to turn the wheel.

They stopped at a traffic junction, the car interior dark and drowsy, rain pouring over the windows. Deep silence punctuated with the ticking sound of the winker.

Yoongi stared out distractedly at the smaller blimps hovering above the road, washed-out in pink and blue through the glass.

The driver shifted slightly in his seat. Then he took his glasses off, met Yoongi’s eye in the rear-view mirror.

“Do I … know you?”

Silence. Only the sound of the wipers moving up and down in front.

“There are millions of people in this city.” Yoongi couldn’t help a quiet chuckle. “I’ve never been asked that before.”

The driver shook his head. “Sorry. You remind me of an old friend.”

“A classmate?” Yoongi smiled to himself. “From where?”

The driver turned around and flicked a switch near the ceiling. Above, overhead lights came on, bright and stinging. Yoongi winced. The driver turned them off.

“… Hyung?”

He squinted. “What?”

“Yoongi-hyung,” the driver said, looking ecstatic. “Yoongi-hyung, is that you?”

He couldn’t quite believe it either, but Yoongi could see it clearly now, the shape of that smile, the excited eyes.

“What luck,” he mumbled, but he allowed himself to smile too. He didn't know what else to do.

“I’d recognise your voice anywhere,” Hoseok said, still grinning. “How are you?”

 _Murdering for money_ , Yoongi thought, but he shook his head slightly. “Nothing too serious.”

“Do you still play?”

“Play?” Yoongi echoed, amused that he remembered. “No.”

The light turned green and they moved off.

“I’ll say you’re doing pretty well, though,” Hoseok said politely. The car rounded a turn, the omnipresent drone of the blimps fading away behind them as they left the main street behind. “You look good.”

“In what way?”

“Just … good, overall.” He gestured with one hand at the road in front. From behind Yoongi could see him grinning, the outline of his cheeks rising. “Like all the rain here hasn’t dampened your spirits.”

They were quiet for the rest of the ride until they turned into Fifth Avenue. Hoseok brought the car to a crawl and pulled up next to a sheltered spot under someone’s fire escape. Yoongi pushed the money over to him.

“Nice clothes,” Hoseok said, watching Yoongi unbuckle his seatbelt. He looked down and slowly unrolled the cash. “Wanna meet up for a drink or something? … It’s been awhile.”

Yoongi had one hand on the door handle. The wipers were still moving. Something about the whole thing had this unreal quality to it. He didn’t miss the way Hoseok was suddenly staring at him, all too intensely in the darkness.

"You got a pen or something?"

Hoseok turned to the glovebox compartment and fished out a notepad, took a pen from the breast pocket of his coat. Yoongi carefully wrote his house phone number down.

“Call me,” he said, groping for the handle again. He opened the door and started out, the din of the rain overwhelming, pounding inside his head.

\---

Yoongi visited Seokjin the next morning.

The place was a sad, quiet building that had a temperature-screening robot standing out in front. He was given a surgical mask at the front desk and scanned in. The elevator was dim, tucked away in a separate wing.

Seokjin was watching something – a foreign soap opera – on the tiny bubble television hanging opposite him, blinking hard every few minutes. The entire bed was encased in a sarcophagi-like respirator with pulsing lights along the side, a monitor for the heart rate. He was up to his chest in blankets and bandages covered his broad exposed shoulders.

No damage had been done to his face. Yoongi supposed he was happy about that.

He waited outside, watching through the glass window until the commercial break. Then he went straight up to the doorway and tapped on the frame gently.

It took Seokjin a while to realise his silhouette in the dimly-lit doorway. The rest of the room was dark, save for the thin glow strip of light from below his bed. He startled, and then relaxed when he realised who it was.

“How are you feeling?” Yoongi said, keeping his voice low. He approached the bed, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.

“I’m fine,” Seokjin said, a little weariness to his voice. He looked relieved. “Never thought I’d see you again.”

“Well –” Yoongi shrugged. “I’m here, aren’t I.”

Seokjin tried to laugh, but it came out like a short wheeze. The monitor above his head emitted a small beep.

“So Mr Yeung told you.”

“Yes. I heard you punctured a lung.”

“Punctured two lungs.” Seokjin met his eye for a brief moment. “You shouldn’t be seeing me like this, though. Not good for staff morale.”

Yoongi moved closer to the bed, pulling his mask down slightly.

“It’s pretty bad.”

“Yeah, sure. I look amazing,” Seokjin huffed, his chest visibly rising and falling with the effort.

“Anybody came around?”

“No.” His expression darkened. “No one thought this would happen. I checked them … I really did.”

“It’s not you. It’s the machine.” Yoongi ran his eyes across the beeping statistics along the headboard. Seokjin was watching him, suddenly blinking very hard. “She got you pretty bad, huh?”

“Look at me, you won’t believe one of those things did this.” His voice quavered, just a little. “Doc says I’m alright, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to go back.”

Yoongi looked around for a chair to sit on, but found none. He leaned over the bed slightly, just took in the sight of all those tubes running up and down to the drip, to the machines, the one that went straight up into Seokjin’s nose.

“How’d you find her?”

“On the streets.” He spoke with long pauses between each sentence. “They got hold of the trail pretty early, I guess. I was lucky in that aspect. Once they pinned down the tracker, it was easy to see how they entered the city. Same for the other one that I didn’t catch yet.”

“What about the others?”

“That’s where you come in. It’s not gonna be so easy for you, though.” He stopped to breathe in deep. “Once they entered the city, they figured out that Wallace could still track them, so they ripped the trackers out of their necks.”

“Do they know they’re being pursued by us, then?”

“The one who nearly killed me, of course.” Seokjin tilted his head slightly, as far as the intubation would allow it to go. “I haven’t gotten any leads on the rest.”

They heard approaching footsteps. Yoongi turned to look back at the doorway, saw the silhouette of the ward nurse.

“Visiting hours are over, sir,” she whispered.

“You get back there and find out what happened, you hear?” Seokjin said, suddenly fervent. His voice faltered in a way that only Yoongi could still tell, and he didn’t like it at all. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again, anyway.”

The nurse was wheeling a cart in, piled with medicine and liquid food. Yoongi placed one hand on the side of the bed, waiting, out of some duty to reassure Seokjin. She turned the lights on, brightening up the room. Fussing over the monitors with silicon gloves, the starched white uniform and tissues.

Everything was so clean. All of it. Yoongi tapped on the metal before leaving, to get his attention. Just two taps, the code they used in the past to communicate before going in for the kill.

“You will. I’m sure you will.”

That afternoon, he made another trip down to the office. The clip had been stored permanently in the hard drive memory of the VK room computer unit. Yoongi let it wind slowly, while he stood in the middle of the room and watched the clip play over and over again.

The last question Seokjin had asked was a very simple one.

[For recalibration] the screen read, and then the transcribed sentences and descriptions of what was happening onscreen.

_\- Tell me, in one sentence, only the good things you remember about your childhood._

She seemed confused at first, confirming what he meant.

 _What childhood_ , she asked.

_\- The time from when you were a kid._

_\- There are no good things. Nothing that I remember at least._

[Seokjin leans down to grab the VK kit, still talking] and then, [Jinsoul, sitting up with the weapon]

Seokjin falling to the floor, over and over again. The shots went through the chair as well, leaving a scatterplot of black holes in the pleather backrest.

He counted the seconds it took for her to break through the restraints, the time she took to wrench the catch apart and run away. The circuit footage always glitched slightly near the last three seconds.

Wallace never said anything about distinguishing between good and bad memory implants. For realism, they needed everything. What she saw wasn’t real, couldn’t be real enough to warrant such a reaction.

He remembered what Mr Yeung had said about the new memory designer. More human than human. Making memories so detailed that replicants would be fooled into believing that they were real.

Yoongi rubbed at his temple and switched the screen off, plunging the room into darkness.

The archival storage room was a dank grey place filled with dust and bad lighting. He dug through files, digitised copies of last wills, evidence photographs. It was strange, being inside there without anyone else. The whole place was awash in shades of dark blue, blinds still drawn.

Yoongi stood in front of the examination table, contemplating the piles of papers on the desk still waiting to be digitised. He went straight for the stack of brown binders piled on one side, riffling through the layers until he found a familiar-looking messy stack. He pulled it out and laid it open, flicking through, finding Nexus 8 and 9 prototype documentations, which he slipped into an empty envelope.

He came to the documents which contained their particulars - health statistics, last known sightings, individual vocations. Jungkook's particulars. Jinsoul's photo, that hard stare under the dim office light. He stared at it, waiting until he could hear, in the silence, his ears ringing with gunshots. He tossed those aside to take along.

The newspapers and reports were kept in a separate aisle of the room. He moved down the row of shelves, which were mounted on straight movable tracks that allowed them to be pushed apart.

He tugged one down the rolling tracks and stood in the middle of the dark aisle under sensor-operated lights, scanning the rows of dusty white boxes. Each had a date written in marker on the side, separated by chronological year.

He picked a random box to check the contents, heaving it down and thumping it on the floor. Stacks of printouts jammed into wrapped paper envelopes, some laminated pieces of newspaper.

Placing that back on the shelf, he went to study the catalogue at the archivist table. There was a computer there, this ancient fat white thing that had Hivemind access. A standard-issue neurocable connected to a modem had been neatly coiled up at the side.

Yoongi powered up the monitor and did a quick search for Jinsoul’s name. The results were too broad and vague for him to find anything. He tried the date on the CCTV footage, and found a recent forum discussing unsolved mysteries. Just a few curious commenters who were following the topic. One of them had compiled a list of recently abandoned train stations which they suspected the murderer was hiding at, based on crowdsourced information. Any historical records from before 2033 had been completely destroyed in the blackout, meaning there was no easy way for him to fact-check it, even on the Hivemind.

The forum wasn’t the most reliable source, but this was the only lead he had and it seemed to make sense.

He got a printout of that page and sat there, studying it. Many stations had been left for dead in the 2010s, the tracks re-routed past them as various parts of the city urbanised and deindustrialised. He’d eventually given up trying to form a mental map. There were sixty-five names on the list, all decommissioned and closed for good since 2015. No coordinates, though.

Jinsoul knew she was being hunted. There would be a lot of moving around involved, a cat and mouse game.

He went back to the catalogue. The date was matched to shelf number 21. Leaving the monitor on, Yoongi went to that shelf and dragged it aside slowly, finding another wall of white boxes. He located the date tag and took down a few boxes from that row, searching through content from the days after it, up till the second week when their agency got hold of the information and Seokjin dragged her in.

A few photocopies of rough drafts for the newsrooms. He wondered where those had come from. They contained more specific details about the victim’s names and ages, method of death. Mostly by strangulation or severe blood loss. Interesting, but not that important. He folded those up in the same way that he found them, tucking them back into the box. There was another thick brown envelope at the bottom of one of the boxes.

It contained a stack of photographs, all different from what he’d seen in the official report. Photos from the scene, close-ups on dead bodies and bloodied clothing, hair turned over faces which had been frozen at the point of death.

Another pre-incept photograph - this one a design of the facial prototype, taken from a Wallace lab report, without the thick head of hair and black eyelashes or added lip colouring. The face was still too sharp and perfect, one modelled for combat intimidation and charm. He could think of a face like that coming at him in the streets, adding some sleight of hand manoeuvre which was more precise than brutal.

Then he came to a property registration form. It wasn’t the original copy, but there was an address there, with Electra’s name and citizen number as the owner. Seokjin had already searched the place before and reported that it was empty.

He decided to go there first, out of some personal obligation to finish the work properly.

He took the photographs and shoved the rest away. Only hardcopies, because his Esper at home was an old model which couldn't read video reels. He sealed the envelope and quietly headed out.

Electra’s house was empty, and it had a stale, musty smell in the air. Abandoned for good, since it didn’t look like it’d been lived in for some time. There were still items in the living room and bedroom - small, unimportant objects which weren’t very useful. He checked the kitchen and found it mostly empty. The bedroom had many racks and drawers, but they were filled with mildewed clothes. The bed was stripped of its pillows and bedsheet, just a bare mattress lying there.

He went to the closet and opened it, checking the drawers. All of them were empty. He went to the desk and checked those two, finding them cleaned out except for the last two. The first one contained only old pieces of clothing. The drawer below that was locked. He pulled on it again, hoping he wasn't making too much noise. It still didn't budge.

She probably took the keys with her.

He squinted at the lock, running his fingernail over the outline of the keyhole.

Seemed like an old spring latch design, could be picked and re-locked. He hunted around the apartment for tools, finding a few sewing pins thrown carelessly into a tray. He took a pen from his bag and used the nib to bend out the shape, then pushed two pieces into the keyhole, probing deftly, trying to remember if he was doing it right.

It was dark and stuffy under here, the wood smelling very much like old shoe polish and another kind of odour he didn't want to know about.

He twisted the clips again, fumbling beside him for another sewing pin. After a few more tries, the lock came apart with a soft pop.

Dropping the tools on the desk, he pulled the creaking drawer out, spotting clothes and an envelope. The envelope was filled with glossy printouts of people and number cards, nondescript photos of what looked like a hazy farmhouse and a colourful storefront of textiles, all shot from different angles. It didn’t look very unusual at first, but then he shook out the last photograph from the envelope and found himself looking at a shot of a train station murder scene. There was a name written on the back of it. _Pterois_.

He took the folded printout of compiled abandoned train stations from his pocket, checking the list. Pterois was listed as an abandoned train station. He made a mark next to it. The other photos had no locations written on them, but there was a string of numbers scrawled on the back of the farmhouse photograph.

He took the entire envelope along with him, placed the clothes back in and shoved the drawer shut.

It spooked him a little back there - how dusty the whole place was, how it reeked of abandonment and a world long gone, how easily he could walk in and out with the pilfered items.

He took the sky train back and alighted at a little station which was built precariously close to the community gardens below, breeding swathes of alien-looking flowering vegetation clumped together like weeds on purple soil patches.

Yoongi’s apartment block was a small monster of brutalist architecture situated along the straight line of identical apartments. From a distance, it looked like it was caving in on itself, floating in its own shadow. Fog had surrounded the top of it in a thick, cloudy embrace. He trekked back through the swamped black road, following the path under the train viaduct which loomed above him. A blimp crossed the angry grey sky, its round underbelly sparkling with light and condensation.

Somehow the blimp had been droning on without interrupting his thoughts. He let himself walk on down the ponded road, thinking about the number of people he’d have to speak to. Of everything that happened, he didn’t expect the resultant feeling of floundering in a mud cesspool with nothing to start out with. It was something he had to get used to all over again.

The first apartment block ahead was dotted with balconies, open windows with golden light pouring out of them. There was washing hanging on the lines, a colourful cord of flapping fabric stretching from one end of the inner courtyard to the opposite side, the work of all those people taking advantage of momentary drier weather.

They were always waiting for rain or the rarity of snow, if nothing fell from the sky. They never waited for sunlight. There was no sunlight here.

Yoongi looked up wearily as he passed, the dark blue light falling on his face, wondering when Hoseok would call him.

Which he did, the next afternoon, while Yoongi was tracing out buildings and roads with a ballpoint. He had been hiding at a tent bar for the rest of the day, sipping on a single bottle of soju, the folded train map spread out over the table. Purple line. Blue line. He figured out where Pterois was and placed a cross over the blank spot where it should have been, if the train line hadn’t been diverted.

He put the pen down and eyed the plates of fried chicken on the tables of the other patrons, trying to ignore the suspicious looks the owner was throwing him.

The police, the media – they had covered it all up. He thought about going back to ask Seokjin again, but that would probably piss the guy off. With holes in his chest and a punctured lung, being stuck in there and having to talk was probably as close to death as he could get.

On the other hand, Hoseok said he was free that evening. He found Yoongi asleep on the table at six, with his hand wrapped loosely around an empty shot glass.

Hoseok poked his elbow, gently at first, then harder, to wake him up.

“Hyung,” he hissed, and Yoongi heard it, the incessant chatter of the tent bar filtering through the hazy blackness all at once as his vision cleared.

He sat up slowly, feeling the pain in his left cheek from where it had pressed against his arm.

Hoseok’s face was golden in the glare of the dim light. He had a big blue puffer jacket on, the colour sharply outlined against his murky vision.

“God,” Yoongi yawned. “You’re early.”

“I’m not. Did you eat already?”

“No.”

“When did you come here?”

“This morning.”

Hoseok tutted and took off his jacket. The collared shirt under that was halfway buttoned over another black sweater inside.

“I’ll buy something,” he said, pulling his crumpled sleeves down. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you’re eating.” Yoongi rubbed his eyes. “Get a double.”

When they finally settled down to have a proper meal, hunched over steaming bowls of food, Yoongi told him. Above them, rain was pelting down on the red tent flaps.

Nestled with all these people inside, the place was filled with this sort of orange glow, the glow of security in masses. A safe, night-time kind of feeling.

The alcohol in his system was making him feel very warm and sluggish.

“I’m having some problems at work.” He stirred his soup slowly, not daring to look up.

“Yeah?” Hoseok said. “What is it?”

“A replicant.”

“Mm-hm.”

“I’m looking for an escaped replicant.”

“Okay.” Hoseok skewered a piece of meat. “Who is this replicant?”

Yoongi watched him eat, his own food still untouched.

“She killed people at a train station.”

“So,” Hoseok said, dabbing at the corner of his mouth. “A dysfunctional android?”

“Synthetic humans, not robots. Those that look real. The ones like you and me, except they’re not.” Yoongi stared at a limp noodle strand he’d picked out of the soup with his chopsticks. “I wouldn’t expect you to know, anyway. Even I can’t tell the difference sometimes.”

“Why are you looking for them?”

“We’re supposed to retire them.” Yoongi let his gaze wander over the crowds of people huddled inside the tent. “Just another word for killing them off.”

“That’s what you do for a living?”

“Pretty much.”

“Don’t they track them, or something?” Hoseok mimed the plugging-in motion behind his neck. “You know, like what we did at school.”

"That's the problem. They took the trackers out."

"Oh."

“They didn’t want to be tracked or connected to Wallace’s monitoring system.” Yoongi stared at the little bottle of soy sauce on the table and reached for it. “- Which is surprising, considering that they’re supposed to be subservient.”

“This is reminding me of something.”

“Anyway – I mean, they tried to look for them,” Yoongi continued, poking limply at his food. “But these new models, they’re more advanced than I thought.”

“Maybe you should go back to your boss.” Hoseok reached for his glass.

“He’s not letting me off until I get all my targets.” Yoongi finally put a piece into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “Says it’s their worst case yet, whatever excuse that’s supposed to be. I haven’t got a proper car or any help, which is pretty bad, considering I used to … work as part of a pair.”

“What else are you supposed to do, then?”

“There was a media blackout on the whole thing.” He paused and shook his head. “I’ve been out of the loop for so long - two years is a long time if you’re in that business. Wallace is trying to make their models more … human, and that’s not making it any easier to work with them.”

They continued eating in silence, until Hoseok suddenly put his utensils down.

“Look - I don’t have anything against what you’re doing, but what’s really the problem with those skinjobs running around untracked?”

“My supervisor thinks they’re running away because of an underground movement that we don’t know about.” Yoongi chewed and swallowed. “I don’t really think there’s a problem if they don’t cause any trouble. But Wallace does. The police department does.”

\---

They walked back after the meal, past a row of stores, the dark interiors forming a long stretch of black and blue windows. Yoongi found himself catching glimpses of their reflections in the glass as they went by.

“So tell me about your skinjobs.” Hoseok was tilting his face up to the sky. A light misty rain was falling.

“Don’t you know what they are?”

“Not really. You already said it’s hard to distinguish them, didn’t you?”

Yoongi stared at the ground as they walked. “What do you want to know?”

“How do you tell one apart from a person?”

“We use a test. I can’t tell you what goes into it except that it’s supposed to measure emotional responses.”

“Cool.” Hoseok was nodding. “Like an EQ test. Seems appropriate.”

“Something like that.”

They stopped at a traffic crossing, the droning voice of the controller sounding from the horn attached to the lights above their heads. _Stop_ , it said, over and over again.

They didn’t speak until they left the crossing far behind. It was quieter here, just long lines of people from the subway station ahead, rushing back in raincoats and jackets with the silent intensity of a morning peak-hour crowd. 

“Most of these guys have slightly underdeveloped emotional responses to things,” Yoongi said. “Even if you think they do, it’s all simulated by fake memories.”

“That just sounds sad.”

“But they don’t know it, and they don’t really expect any empathy from others either. It just doesn’t come naturally to them.”

They were moving towards a stretch of large buildings with pink-lit shopfronts, dancing holograms on their pedestals and animatronic mannequins. Hoseok was walking with hands in the pockets of his pants. 

“Do they … feel things?”

“They have primal instincts.” Yoongi scratched at his head. “But the rest are usually picked up from the social cues and emotions of people around them.”

“They can learn too?”

“They’re good at imitating human behaviour to learn, yes.”

“I like the idea of that,” Hoseok said, rather wistfully. “That they have the ability for organic growth, instead of … just programming things into themselves. Neurocables make it so easy to forgo traditional learning nowadays.”

Yoongi realised he didn’t recognise this part of the city. He’d been so focused on thinking that he’d been blindly following Hoseok along. They were walking very close to each other, their arms colliding every few minutes.

“Are you going anywhere?” he asked.

“Nope. I’m free tonight.” A gust of wind blew and Hoseok tugged on his jacket to pull it tight. “You had a place in mind?”

“No.” Yoongi looked back over his shoulder, as if watching out for someone. “I don’t want to go out.”

“Okay.” Hoseok started walking faster. “Let’s head home then. I don’t like it out here either.”

They ended up at the carpark. It was cold and quiet, with only a streetlamp at the corner of the chain-link fencing, a gravel-lined floor and cracked concrete.

“You drove all the way here?” Yoongi asked. The cold was suddenly giving him a slight headache.

“What else did you expect me to do,” Hoseok said, suddenly pulling him by the arm to the cab, “- take the train?”

Inside, they’d tuned in to a local symphonic station, the volume turned down low. Yoongi tilted his head to press against the car window, following the rising and falling lines of the train tracks outside with his eyes.

Hoseok spoke first.

“Don’t you think that Halfaxa sounds a lot like what your replicants are doing?”

Yoongi turned to face him. The trickling music continued in the background, a quiet murmur. He leaned his head back onto the headrest as the car went over a hump.

“It’s highly unlikely that a small school movement would lead to something like that.”

Hoseok tilted his head. “But it sounds so similar, doesn’t it?”

“We can’t assume without some kind of evidence. All of those are just rumours.”

Hoseok didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

“You’re a _cop_ , aren’t you?”

Yoongi didn’t reply.

“Hyung.”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you?” Yoongi gave him a sidelong glance, frowning slightly. “I’m not a cop. And I don’t like this job. Plain and simple as that.”

“Okay,” Hoseok said quietly, not looking at him. “I’m sorry. Okay.”

Yoongi closed his eyes, still seeing lights shift murkily behind his eyelids.

“Do you remember them, though?” Hoseok said after a while, voice cutting into his thoughts.

Guy still talked a lot, never shut his mouth. Yoongi remembered liking him too much for that.

He opened one eye. “Remember who?”

“Those classmates who started the uprising.”

“Mm, not really.”

“I’m still in contact with a few of them."

“Yeah?” Yoongi rubbed at his temple and focused on the blinker light of the vehicle in front of them.

“You don’t have to worry about, you know, associating with us, if that’s what you’re concerned about. The whole thing died out just as quickly as it started. People hardly remember who we were anymore.”

“I heard.”

“I can let them know you're still around.”

“Sure.”

They turned into a side street, the floating yellow holographic billboards drifting above.

"Or would you like to come down for a visit?"

"Where?"

"The substation."

Those images of engine oil on the road and red-light districts, their dorms filled with call girls and boys who kept serrated blades in their bags. It all came back to Yoongi in one jagged mesh.

"No. Not going down there."

He could hear the smile in Hoseok’s voice. "Come on."

"It's hell."

"You've got to get out there and look around. Otherwise you'll never find your targets."

Yoongi bumped his head against the glass, not saying anything.

“They’re interesting, I promise. Maybe you’ll be able to get them to help you.”

After a while, Yoongi looked over at him. “You’re friends with them?”

“Sort of.”

"How are they?"

The car turned into the street below Yoongi’s apartment block.

“Do you even remember their names?”

“Somewhat.” Yoongi laughed. “As in, I would know if you told me. Not off the top of my head.”

"Okay. There’s Taehyung, who just bought his own garage. Rich as hell. Jimin's dancing for an underground troupe. You remember him? The model student.”

“Yeah.”

“And Yves's gotten into the hunting business. Money is good, if you’re willing to spend your days dragging yourself through dust and auctions."

“Someone got expelled, right.”

“Yeah. He was … he was really something, Namjoon. Yeah.”

They stopped under the overhanging fire escape. The entire street was empty.

"So ... you'll come over?"

Hoseok’s eyes still had that eager shine to them, that boyish amiability behind this cool facade of sophisticated blue-tinted glasses and classy clothes.

Yoongi sighed. “Okay.”

Hoseok seemed to relax a little.

“I don’t know what happened to Namjoon, though,” he said, pressing the hazard light. “We lost touch years ago. If you want to find him, you’re on your own.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: bangtan & loona ensemble will make cameo/supporting appearances in the story


	2. you were never a child

The loud ringing of the phone pierced the drill silence of his apartment. On a Saturday morning, the curtains were drawn. A thin white line of dawn light slipped through the crack. Yoongi stirred from the sound and rolled over, reaching for the cordless on the end table.

He groaned and put the person on, holding the phone high above his head so he could see who it was. His vision was still bleary.

The secretary’s office. He brought the phone down and pressed it to his ear.

"- Yoongi," the female voice was soft, very muffled and quiet. "Yoongi. You’ve got another lead."

Yoongi rubbed at his temple, slowly pushing himself up further on the pillow.

"I'm sorry for calling you, and normally I'd be a lot less direct, but —" the secretary stopped to talk to someone, their voices inaudible, " - you gotta move, like, now."

"What time is it?" He rolled over, fumbled for his alarm clock and stared at it. "Never mind."

"Mr Yeung specifically wanted me to call you."

"Really. On Saturday morning."

"Yes, I know. Can you get down there? The office. The room. Some outside guys hauled in a suspect this morning."

"That's all?"

"I buzzed them in, but there's no one else on duty to VK them. Is that okay?"

"I've got more than enough on my hands already."

"Mr Yeung sends his apologies."

"Tell him he doesn't need to."

They hung up. Yoongi fell back down onto the bed, dropping the phone onto his tummy with a soft slap. After a few minutes, he got up and slumped towards the bathroom.

A hovercraft was the fastest thing he could grab hold of now. The driver was quiet, thankfully, said nothing as Yoongi tried to drain a can of vending-machine coffee, spilling some on his trousers. He made a mental note to ask the secretary to ring up a patrol car for him. At the office block, he rushed in through the sliding double doors, buzzed himself in at the concierge. Saturday morning was a quiet time. The elevator couldn't be slower.

His hands were already shaking by the time he reached the place. Fourth floor, VK room. Green door. He moved his face closer to the scanner, pulling the lid of his eye down so the machine could detect that it was him. The round pinhole pulsed slightly, then the door catch finally released, popping open. He pushed it and went in.

Cheon was standing there, his officer sidekick carefully strapping the subject down. They'd tied a sack over the person's head.

"Is you again," Cheon said, realising that Yoongi had entered the room. "I catch this one today. For you."

"Thanks a lot," Yoongi mumbled, brushing past him. "Where the hell is Mr Yeung?"

Cheon and the officer exchanged glances. The officer signed, looking a little confused, but Yoongi couldn't understand.

"What's he saying?"

"Mr Yeung not here. Went to Wallace Corp last night."

"Why?" Yoongi set about switching on the machines, pulling knobs on the control board. Cheon and the officer stood to the side, awkwardly watching him.

"He said he's busy."

Yoongi was examining a coil of wire. "He'd better be," he muttered under his breath. He plugged one end of it into a round socket labelled OUTPUT, and the screen came on.

Okay, Voight-Kampff. You did this before. He made sure the plug was properly inserted before getting up.

"We go now, collect our money," Cheon said. They turned to leave.

"Hang on."

They stopped. "Mr Yeung always -"

"Today you listen to me. Stay there." Yoongi pointed. "I need you to help."

They walked back to the chair.

"What is that?" Cheon pointed at the screen. The commands were flashing in rapid lines which moved down the page. The subject stayed disturbingly still on the chair.

Yoongi pushed a knob, adjusted it slightly until an image came into focus onscreen. Beeping sounds. He stopped turning. More beeping sounds. He pushed another switch, and it went quiet.

"Take the bag off," Yoongi said with a slight grimace. He pulled the door of the booth shut. If anyone was going to get accidentally shot, it wasn't going to be him.

There were screens on the control panel, many screens showing the face and body of the subject from every angle. Yoongi leaned over them, both hands holding up his weight on the surface of the board, eyes scanning the monitors.

Cheon and the officer undid the knot of the bag and lifted it off.

Yoongi nearly jumped. "What the hell ..."

On six of the monitors, he was looking at a young face, dark curls of damp hair covering the eyebrows. The same grey, mechanical irises which emitted a very faint glow, something an untrained eye would miss. The face - it was Jungkook. He didn't look angry, or surprised, more curious than anything else.

"I've got you," Yoongi whispered, waving for Cheon and the officer to move away from the chair. He slowly dimmed the lights, moved the joystick to focus the eyeglass over Jungkook's left eye and waited for the image to stabilise on the little monitor.

Yoongi tapped on the mouthpiece of the microphone, swallowing. He looked up and waited for a few seconds, then started reading out the instructions.

“I’ll be administering a basic Voight-Kampff test. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s start you off with a few preliminary questions. The time now is seven-thirty in the morning. Let’s say you go to a store and buy something for breakfast, and the cashier tells you to have a good day. What do you say in return?”

“... Thank you?”

“Reasonable,” Yoongi said, looking down at the screen. “You’re currently being tied up and held against your will in a chair. What’s the first reaction you have to this?”

“Ask why.” Jungkook paused. “Demand that I should be released.”

“You see a replicant being tied up and held against their will in a chair. How do you feel?”

“I’d feel sorry for them.”

He checked the dials, frowning at the readings, but moved on to the next question.

“A replicant kills your mother. What do you do?”

“Call the police.” Yoongi saw the slight pupil dilation, very close to the mark. The needles swung slightly into the green zone. “If that doesn’t work then I’ll kill them myself.”

Yoongi made a note of that on the margin of the question page.

“Very well. We’ll move onto part two. Reaction time is important for this part. Please pay close attention to the screen and answer as quickly as you can.”

In the booth, the screen read: _CHECK Blush response CHECK Involuntary dilation of the iris CHECK Right 6.0 Left 4.4 END_

Yoongi cleared those and went ahead with the test.

“On screen you’ll see words and scenarios, each related to a kind of sensation and activity. If they evoke similar feelings, please acknowledge it after the tone. If not, please remain silent until the next pair shows up.”

He sat back and let the machine run, checking the scores.

_Gratefully AND Receiving a present - 1_

_Melancholia AND Pricking your finger on a needle - 0_

_Anger AND Sitting on a train - 0_

_Compassion AND Running over a cat - 1_

The list went on. Yoongi kept watching the polygraph readings after that. Very strong measurements, indicative of something more than a simulated emotional outburst. Reaction time fluctuated, mostly perfect, but some deviated a little too much to be within normal range.

He came out of the booth with the sheets of paper and the VK kit, sitting down at the table opposite the reclining chair and assembling the small machine from the metal briefcase.

“I’ll be asking you a few questions relating to hypothetical scenes. Don’t think too much - just tell me how you would respond.”

He took the end of the cord and plugged it into the eyepiece contraption attached to the chair, focusing the glass over Jungkook’s eye. Going back, he checked the sheet of questions.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“You’re given a custom-made bound notebook for your birthday. It’s made of cowhide.”

“I’d give it back and call the police.”

Starting off good. Yoongi took note of the dial readings and moved on to the next question.

“It’s winter and you see a stray dog in the cold with no food. You -”

“I’d buy food for it.”

“- You walk over and it _attacks_ you. What do you do?”

Jungkook hesitated. The dials moved, slightly.

“I’ll run away,” he said.

“A wasp lands on your arm while you’re in the shower.”

“I’ll kill it.”

“Describe your favourite food.”

“... I have a few.”

“Pick one.”

“Lamb skewers. Spicy, with Sichuan peppercorns. From the roadside stall.”

“What does it feel like to hold the hand of someone you love?”

“It feels good.”

“You’re at a party and the dishes are being served. On the table is fruit bingsu, raw liver and boiled bat. You go to the punch bowl but someone tells you that the punch has been coloured with the dye of crushed cochineals.”

“What’s a cochineal?”

“An insect which produces carmine. Traditionally crushed and used for red food dye.”

“I’d skip the raw liver and boiled bat.” Jungkook paused. “I’ll ask the chef to verify if the punch is made from insect dye.”

Yoongi skipped a few questions and went to the next page.

“You see a homeless man on the street while you’re walking along, and you fumble for spare change to give him, but you accidentally drop a ten-unit bill into his lap.” He was watching the dials very closely. “What do you do?”

“I’ll leave it,” Jungkook said. “It’s not very nice to take it back.”

He’d answered more than a hundred questions with no visible conclusion in sight. Yoongi stopped after a certain mark and walked back to the booth. Inside, he blinked at the score on the monitor, dazed from the proceedings. Then he pushed the door open, filled with a sinking sense of dread as he strode towards the chair.

"Batch 97," he was saying. "Jungkook." He stopped beside the chair, looked down into those terrible eyes. The boy nodded.

"Are you a citizen?"

"Yes." There was something tenacious, almost like defiance, in the way that he replied.

"He's lying," Yoongi muttered, although to no one in particular.

Jungkook let out a sharp amused sound at that, all-too human in its casualness. The room was silent for a few seconds.

"You going to kill him?" Cheon asked tersely, from his corner of the room. Yoongi ignored the comment.

He’d never had an encounter with a test result that couldn’t give him a definite answer. Yet he had a strange, insistent feeling that it was all wrong. He suddenly wished Seokjin was there in the room with him.

"You look sick, Mr Min."

"How'd you find him?"

Cheon was quiet for a few seconds.

"He come to me."

The officer began frantically gesturing. Yoongi looked from him to Cheon, waiting.

" _No no_ , I - he, what you call it, he turn himself in. Yes. Other night, Tiny here waiting outside for me to finish customer deal. This boy come, he say he want to do the police test. He promise me donate kidney if we bring him here. Say he looking for the blade runner."

The silence grew until it became stifling.

"Well, you're not getting any kidneys from him," Yoongi breathed out. He walked over and bent down to switch the screen off. "What else?"

Silence. He looked up at Jungkook. "Jungkook. I'm talking to you."

Jungkook refused to say anything.

Yoongi crossed the room and went to the booth, switching the lights off one by one, cutting off access to the CCTV footage as well. He waited inside for a few moments, then came out and banged the door of the control booth shut.

"Find the secretary and ask them to pay you," he said, speaking to Cheon and Tiny. "Who is it now?"

"Small girl at first floor? She always here."

"Yeah, it's probably her. Ask her. Tell her Mr Yeung sent you." Yoongi closed the door. He leaned against it, hearing the click of the catch and trying to even out his breathing. Seokjin called two hours ago.

It was eight in the morning.

"Are you going to kill me?" Jungkook asked, in a very small voice.

The room was dark, only the single light hanging from the ceiling above the reclining chair.

“Why did you come here?” Yoongi asked.

“For the test.”

“But you’re on my target list, do you know that? I’m supposed to retire you.”

A long silence.

"Can I ask you something?" Jungkook said.

Yoongi grunted in agreement.

"Have you ever retired a human by accident?"

"... What's this supposed to be, an empathy test on me?" Yoongi snickered. He looked down at the floor.

"Have you?"

"Why would it be of any concern to you?"

"You still haven't killed me yet."

Yoongi pushed away from the wall and walked slowly towards the VK table, the equipment kit still assembled on it.

"You don’t seem to have any idea how the test works, do you?"

Jungkook kept quiet, this rosy, wooden apathy in his gaze. He watched Yoongi drag a low stool over and sit down behind the VK machine.

Yoongi placed his gun on the table. "So you came here knowing you could be killed."

"I wanted to take the chance."

"Why?"

"... Why do you want to know?"

“You’re not making any sense.” Yoongi glanced at the gun. “What exactly are you looking for?”

“An empathy test.”

“ _And_ what else?”

“Nothing else.”

"Look here," Yoongi said, getting exasperated. “I have a job to do. Will you please -”

"You don't have to do your job."

"That's not for you to decide."

“Did I pass the test?”

Yoongi ignored him and scraped the chair closer to the table.

“You made a decision that you’re not supposed to have made. Replicants don’t come knocking on the doors of the blade runner unit asking to be tested.” He paused. “I don’t … understand what you’re doing at all.”

Jungkook was clenching and unclenching his gloved fists slowly, like he was trying to work out the knots in them.

"Did I pass the test?" he asked again, this time with more deadly insistence.

Yoongi didn’t respond immediately. The whir of the ventilating fan filled the smoky silence.

“It’s inconclusive.” He reached out to switch the machine off. “But what if you had failed?”

Jungkook was quiet for a beat. “Then I’ll just accept it.”

Yoongi started to disassemble the VK kit, stowing it back into the briefcase. The feeling of panic was there for a hot moment, but then it was gone. He knew what to do.

"Are you afraid of dying?" he said at last.

"Not particularly, no."

Yoongi closed the case and stared at it for a few minutes. Then he got up, going over to the reclining chair. Up close, he could see the scars on Jungkook’s face, a few under his chin, prominent and outlined in the strong overhead lamp light.

"Do those things hurt?"

Jungkook looked down, tried to move his arms a little. "Not really."

Yoongi glanced at the exit, then back at him.

"Listen," he finally said, in a quiet, tense voice. "I'm not going to kill you, but you need to do something for me."

Jungkook's expression hadn't changed at all. No fright or anger, his eyes reflecting something of the sullied innocence that Yoongi had seen in so many models before.

"There's someone I'm looking for. She's a murderer. I need you to help me find her." Yoongi swallowed. "I won't kill you."

Silence. The unfeeling grey eyes.

"I'm not going to kill you," Yoongi emphasised, "unless you want to make me change my mind."

Jungkook levelled him with a steady gaze. "Okay."

"You piss me off, I'll retire you on the spot."

"I understand."

Yoongi reached for the restraints. "No sudden movements," he murmured, undoing them one by one. He draped them by the side of the reclining chair and stepped back, still holding the gun with his other hand.

Jungkook was taller than him, not looking very cooperative in the thick leather jacket he was wearing and the dark smudge on his cheek that could have been blood.

The room was suddenly very quiet. Yoongi couldn't hear anything else but his own breathing.

"You need a tracker," he said. "Follow me."

He went downstairs to find the secretary. Her office was a tiny little room behind a sliding frosted glass door. There was just enough room inside for a desk and a chair. The walls were bright orange. She was hunched over something on the desk when Yoongi knocked.

She looked up, spying his face in the clear panels between the bars of frosted glass. He knocked again. She nodded, gesturing for him to open the door. He pushed it open slightly, keeping the gun hidden behind his back.

"Am I disturbing you?" he said, spying a takeaway box on the table.

"No, are you looking for anything?"

"The lab technician."

She frowned, spun around on the chair to check the calendar.

"He left at four. But I can buzz you in. Gimme a second." She leaned over the desk and touched the row of buttons on a holographic screen.

"Did those guys come in just now?" Yoongi jabbed his thumb in the direction of the corridor. "Big man and little man."

"Yeah. 600 units." The girl pulled a sticky note off the wall, reading something she'd written on it. "They gave me back half of it."

"What for?"

"Dunno. Said you went apeshit on the felon. Felt bad for hurting your feelings."

Yoongi scoffed. He thought about asking for the extras, but decided against it.

"When did Mr Yeung leave?"

"Last night." She poked around in the takeaway box, scraping the bottom. "It was an emergency."

"What was it about?"

"Said it was to see someone important." She eyed him, looking doubtful. "Said he was coming back tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Yoongi echoed slowly. "That soon?"

She nodded, picking out the last of her food with the chopsticks, chewing silently.

"Hey," she suddenly said, looking up at him, "you're new here?"

He gave her a funny look. "So are you."

"I'm only temporary."

Yoongi let out a short laugh, stepping back outside. Jungkook hung back in the darkness of the walkway.

"Wait, wait," she was saying. He slid the door back carefully, just enough for him to look through the gap.

"So you've worked here before?"

"Used to." He exhaled loudly. "Maybe I'll be temporary too."

A long pause. She was chewing her food.

"How do I address you?"

"... Yoongi."

"I'm Yeojin," she said. When he didn't reply immediately, she shrugged and went back to her food. "See you around."

They went straight up to the lab. He found the canisters of mobile tracking implants at the back of the freezer room, the box of large syringes and hypodermic needles. Under patchy lighting, he fixed up the jab at the workbench. The radiators were buzzing somewhere above and he soon found his fingers becoming numb from staying inside the freezer.

But it was done. He sealed it up in a bag and walked out to the autopsy room behind the lab, a lonely place with black glass windows, trolley carts filled with bottles of medicated solution. A long workbench along the wall was stacked with more chemicals, glass jars, folded towels. Jungkook was perched on the pathologist's stool, drumming his fingers on the metal examination table.

"Just a minute," Yoongi said, dropping the bag on the table with a clatter. He rummaged for a jar of alcohol swabs under the workbench, then put on gloves. He went up and pressed the swab on the back of the neck like they'd been trained to do. Jungkook tensed up, raising his hands to touch the cold liquid.

"Hold still," Yoongi said, pressing down harder. He hovered his finger above the skin, roughly gauging where the needle should go in. Then he picked the syringe up from the metal tray.

"I've had one like this before," Jungkook said. "As a kid. But not up there."

 _You were never a kid._ Yoongi dabbed at the spot with the swab again before going in.

"It's about the size of a rice grain. Not going to hurt you too badly, don't worry."

When he was done, a faint blue light could be seen pulsating under the skin. Yoongi waited until it faded. He'd lock onto the target later.

"Okay," he said, washing his hands. "You're all good."

\---

They took the train back to his apartment. Jungkook was quiet the whole way, being very careful about not standing too close to Yoongi. It was cold inside the train, the hanging handrails swinging as it zipped on, out of the city centre.

Yoongi watched the view go by outside, the neon glow flickering on his face as they passed one building after another. Ahead, rows of streets, more buildings lit in pink and red from the spotlights. He watched the flashing images on a large digital billboard, a geisha smiling with bright red lipstick. Smoke was billowing from her mouth.

They walked back from the train station by the usual route.

A tall, beige-painted trellis gate, then a metal industrial door, both locked. The outside landing had a single fluorescent tube installed above. Up here, wind came in over the parapet, sharp and biting. Yoongi slid the card into the reader, ignoring the intently eager way Jungkook was observing the motion. The pneumatic catch hissed open.

"Don't touch anything," he said, locking the door behind him. He switched the living room light on, waited for the bulb to warm up and grow brighter, before pushing past Jungkook to get to the store room. Inside, he shifted a filled laundry basket away and unfolded a yellow chair, setting it in the corner beside the washing machine.

He stepped back out, beckoned for Jungkook to go over.

"You'll sit here," he said, pointing at the chair. "At night you can sleep on the floor. I don't know how you sleep, but that's all I can give you."

Jungkook stepped in, cautiously looking around at the clothes dangling from hangers above.

"You still live like it's the 2010s."

"That's none of your business."

Yoongi pushed the folding door aside and stepped out. He went to his room and slumped on the bed, one hand flat on his tummy, the other arm over his eyes. He stayed like that for a long time.

At seven in the evening, he went out and bought dinner in a soggy takeaway box from a portable noodle store. The place was hot and noisy, gutter oil smells and food clouds rising everywhere he looked. The man stirring soup had a thick towel around his neck, bony wrinkled hands which were stronger than they looked. The man took his order and money with great difficulty, trying to talk above the din of customers shouting out requests for extras and specific ingredients.

Then he was on his way home, thinking about the cases again.

He had a few ideas, vague plans, but none of them of any use if he didn’t get a lead. The cold wind was cutting into his bones through the fabric of his clothes and a damp layer of fog was rising about the road which he could feel all over his face, like condensation on skin. He decided to take the train to Pterois.

The station had been cleaned up and reserviced, made operational again. A measly little escalator, which was narrow enough for just one person, took him three storeys below into a white-tiled barrel-vaulted space. He surveyed the platform area. It was deserted and unevenly-lit, the dense smell of disinfectant on the floors rising upwards. People were heading up and down the escalators, getting in and out of trains. It wasn’t a place where people stopped, or stayed.

There was a train conductor standing on the platform, a lonely figure in the standard-issue blue uniform. Yoongi looked up to the ceiling to see a dozen iris scanners, neatly built in alongside the surveillance cameras. Jinsoul must have bypassed those if she was somewhere in the city.

The train was pulling in. He stood up and went to wait at one of the doors. Of course, she was still in the city. Down here, in one of those train stations. She could be anywhere at all, maybe waiting for the next crowd of people to finish off.

Sometimes it got this bad, when he was on the lookout for someone, a fresh case which he couldn’t get out of his head until it stuck permanently there like wet tar on a road. The glass of the train windows reflected rows of people huddled inside, heads down or staring blankly out at the numbing lightshow.

He searched the train cabin furtively, saw the girl get off the train and walk past an old man with the local paper open in his lap, wetting his finger to turn the page to the job section.

They didn't advertise for killers in the papers. You had to be hunted down for them to recruit you.

While scrutinising his reflection in the metallic surface of the doors, he watched his eyes get darker and darker with the poor light until he finally had to look away.

 _Your eyes, Yoongi,_ he thought. _They look less human than you are._

When he got back, there were two things he noticed on his door - the red lines and numbers. He was sure they weren't there before.

Moving the plastic carrier to his left hand, he felt around for his holster, retrieved the gun and pressed it to the door. With the other hand he pushed the card into the slot. The lock hissed and the door swung open slowly. He nudged it further back with his shoe and stepped in.

"Jungkook?" he said, moving in. He placed the food on the shelf next to the key tray. The apartment was quiet. He could hear the blimp in the distance, the rattling electric fan.

"Jungkook."

He went straight to the storeroom and knocked on the door, stepping to the side.

A creak, and the door was tugged open. Jungkook leaned out slightly and looked around, his eyes glowing. Yoongi shakily dropped his hand.

"Anybody come in?" he asked, voice strained.

Jungkook stared at him.

"No."

"Okay," Yoongi said, rubbing at his forehead and exhaling slowly. "There's something I have to ask you."

He went back to the entrance and stepped outside to check the door. The letters and numbers were still there. He raised two fingers and beckoned for Jungkook to come over.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, pointing.

A scraggly silhouette of a tree rendered in red spray paint. Below that, a string of four-digits in the same red spray paint, darker than the signature, like the person had gone over the numbers a second time. _1057_.

Jungkook shook his head, dark curls of hair falling over his eyes. "No."

Yoongi went back into the house, searching the cabinet under the sink for cleaning things. He found an old bottle of paint thinner from the time he was redoing the wall of his room, and a bunch of dirty rags.

"You're strong, right? Just do whatever you can to remove it," he said, setting a pail of water and paint thinner on the floor. He suddenly felt very tired.

Jungkook wrung out the rag.

"I can try," he said, "but ... I don't know if I'll end up scratching the door."

"I don't care about the door. Just get it off."

Yoongi stood by, watching for a while, then went back inside.

Grabbing the last of his beer and an empty glass, he slid the file off the shelf and clambered over into the old armchair, switching the Esper machine on. While the screen warmed up, he opened up the envelope and started sifting through the photos he took from the archive room and Electra’s apartment.

The crime-scene photo. Under dim light, he could make out the spots of blood on the floor, number cards. The police tape around tents placed on top of bodies. He slotted it into the machine and poured a half-glass for himself while waiting for a digitised image to show up.

This was one of the underground stations. He couldn't tell if it was day or night, but zooming in on the clock at the top left-hand corner of the photo, a time could be made out quite clearly. 10.35 a.m. The Pterois nameplate was visible under the clock.

A date was scrawled down the back of the original photograph in loopy handwriting. He checked that against the calendar. It was a Saturday morning, the week before Seokjin was shot.

Seokjin VK-ed her on Tuesday. That would have put three days between the date of the murder and when they finally found out she was the murderer. She had been hiding somewhere else for those three days and nobody knew where she was. Yoongi took a drink and winced, swallowing. His throat burned.

He turned the other photographs over. The ones of the farmhouse had a number written on it. _CT-2041, 13-11-28_. He recognised the first set of digits as Citadel’s citizen number.

Meaning that this place was probably connected to him.

He put the photograph of the farmhouse into the slot at the top and let the machine run a basic scan over it. There was something beside the door.

“Enhance 300 to 172.”

It tracked in.

“Stop. Move right.”

The door was right there. A number plate had been hammered next to it.

“Centre.” He waited. “Stop. Pull back by 36. Stop.”

“Focus.” He checked the image and put the glass down. “Give me a hardcopy of that.”

The printout showed a number. 250. He didn’t know what it meant yet, but it could be useful. He wrote the identifying number down on the back of that and stacked all those together in one pile.

The next photograph, a store with colourful toys arranged out in front. This was easier to check once he had the magnified image on screen. A simple 400 to 60 track-forward and left-stop-focus did it. A face was there, visible behind the counter. He checked that with the profile sketch of Electra. Seemed like a match.

He put the rest of the photos on the coffee table in front of him, next to the beer bottle and waited for the machine to work the printout.

While waiting, he looked at the door and saw the scant light coming through the gap, the sound of intense scrubbing outside. He took his wrist watch off and set it to lock onto the tracker in Jungkook’s neck.

The printout was tagged to Electra’s biography sheet and slotted back into the file.

He spent a long time studying the Nexus 8 and 9 prototype drawings, which stated that three conditions had been kept in mind when designing the models. A customisable lifespan, a life vocation, and a greater capacity for empathy. Customised lifespans allowed them to live for as long as their vocation or employer required them to. Greater empathy came from the higher-quality memories.

Yoongi checked the profile sheets for their incept dates and counted forward by the number of years they had been given to live. All of them were roughly two years away from their expiry date, except for Jungkook. The kid only had a few months left at best.

He understood why Mr Yeung had thought Jungkook wouldn't be alive. Yoongi took the printouts and walked over to his old piano, where he had a square of metal wire fencing stuck above the keys. He pegged all the photos up and sat down heavily on the seat, still holding onto his glass.

Jungkook came back into the apartment, fingertips red with paint. Yoongi locked the door and took the pail from him, dumping it in the bathroom. He stepped back out, wiping his hands on his trousers.

"Sit there," Yoongi said, pointing at the couch.

Jungkook hesitated, then walked over and sank down into the hard cushions.

Yoongi went back to his seat and chugged down the rest of his glass, setting it down on top of the piano.

"Do you know when your incept date is?"

From across the living room, Jungkook stayed still, unmoving in the dark.

"September 1st," he replied quietly. "2045."

"You're going to die soon," Yoongi said, "do you know that?"

Jungkook didn’t say anything.

Yoongi rested both elbows on the piano keys and buried his head in his hands. After a few seconds of rubbing vigorously at his eyes, he sat up, contemplating the photos. He could still feel Jungkook's gaze burning into the side of his head.

"Tell me about your earliest memory, then."

"I - I think some of them are real."

"Tell me about your earliest memory," Yoongi repeated, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

He could hear Jungkook shifting back on the couch. A small cough.

"I lived with my grandmother."

Yoongi waited.

"We'd always been stuck on the off-world colony, for as long as I can remember. There was sunlight every day. The grass on our lawn was synthetic."

Yoongi twirled his hand in circles, urging him to go on.

"I remember pushing an electric mouse down a hospital body chute," Jungkook continued. "I was seven. I went back to the same place for my medical check-up and found the electric mouse at the bottom of the same body chute."

A thick and uncomfortable silence ensued.

"Is that why you came to us?" Yoongi said, finally turning to face him. "So you could be tested?"

"I had no other way."

"You think you're not a replicant?"

"That's what the test said, didn't it?"

"It's wrong. There wasn’t an answer, I already told you that."

"But the electric mouse wasn't fake. It was real. I found it in the chute."

"Those are just implants, Jungkook."

"How do you know?" Jungkook retorted. "If you could tell just by looking, why run the test on me?"

Yoongi gave him a pointed look. Jungkook stopped talking and fell back against the couch, kneading his fingers.

“You can’t have been seven years old at that time.” Yoongi took his photograph off the metal grid and studied it. “You’re a replicant. You were never a child.”

“So you’re implying that I can’t even trust my own mind.”

Yoongi stared at the pinned-up pictures for a while, thinking. Then he pushed back from the piano.

"Hang on," he said, disappearing into his bedroom. He came back out with what looked like an old-fashioned tape recorder.

"Repeat what you told me just now. Everything you can remember." He switched it on.

Jungkook watched him as he walked to the couch. "About the mouse?"

"Yes." Yoongi sat down next to him, held it near his face. "Go ahead."

When he was done, Yoongi labelled the recording and kept the tape in a box, stowed with all his other old music tapes, a sad jumble of broken things that would never play again.

“What’s that for?”

“I’m keeping it in case you forget anything.”

“I won’t forget it,” Jungkook insisted. “I’m sure it’s real.”

“No,” Yoongi said, turning slightly to face him. “I think you should get that memory checked. We’ll go down to Wallace tomorrow.”

\---

Yoongi let Jungkook sleep on the bed that night. The windows were all open, air blowing in and rattling the hangers in the storeroom where his laundry had been hanging out to dry. The white blinking city lights in the distance, that omnipresent fog floating about it. He could spot the needle-like tip of the tallest office block and the blimps drifting by like kites in the wind.

Tired, he grabbed the glass, poured himself a small amount from the bottle and stepped out onto the balcony in a thin t-shirt, where he could feel the wind come at him full force. He shut the door behind and leaned his elbows on the rusty railings, old paint peeling off and sticking to his skin.

A long time ago he'd have found all of them, well before Mr Yeung could have had the chance to pay some crap bounty hunters to do the job.

A long time ago he knew the workings of Wallace Corp like the back of his hand, went in and out of the place like one of their employees while staying largely invisible. Nobody had to tell him how to do it. And then a small accident, a little spot in his clean record which made him want to turn away from it forever, or so he hoped.

He watched the small figures of a couple stumbling back under the shadows on the sidewalk below. They moved back and forth, wobbling like a pair of puppets on stilts.

 _It's just one incident_ , Mr Yeung had told him, off the record. _An occupational hazard. You get it wrong sometimes, you move on._ The way a beam of light could fall at the wrong angle on someone's face, someone's eyes, casting them in that tell-tale sign of grey. A delayed response, a sinister smile. These things he didn't like anymore. And when they fell, blood all over the office floor, his relief, until Mr Yeung came in and told him they'd gotten the wrong person.

Things changed fast in the city. You could be here the day before, but gone the next. A building could be demolished and rebuilt in a week. The only thing he'd grown familiar with was that long, icy and unrelenting rain.

A hovercraft zipped by, the rotating bright blue light piercing into the unlit rooms of all the apartments. Yoongi realised his glass had been untouched. He finished it and went back in, picking the pieces of flaking paint off his elbows.

He'd fixed an appointment the next morning. Yeojin arranged to have a company-issued spinner pick them up.

The Jinsoul situation still bothered him. There was a pattern to the killings, and there were too many of them to investigate individually. The media blackout was probably requested by Wallace to hide the evidence that there was any faulty programming on their part. Weren’t Nexus-9s supposed to be loyal and obedient towards their employers and creators?

And if he came back empty-handed, he'd lose the money. He'd lose a few other things that he didn't have the words to describe.

Inside, he lingered by the bedroom door, spotting Jungkook curled up in a foetal position on his bed, bare feet tangled in the blankets. He felt strangely sad at the vulnerability of it all, at the way Jungkook could fall asleep now and probably not worry about people coming after him in the night.

This could have been any apartment in the city, Yoongi thought, sagging his body against the doorframe. This could have been peace time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [you don't mind, so i don't mind](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GlGw1CzG1ts)
> 
> character img ref - yoongi: [shadow](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EN6Ldq8UwAAMszd.jpg) & jungkook: [armyzip](https://66.media.tumblr.com/f49e70ff37dd4ade93ef630b487be974/3a90f2f9066e97ec-72/s640x960/bc4d2caaf7ea4be0fd7b2b31d9ca5676d58155d9.gif)


	3. amanaemonesia

Jungkook was up early.

Yoongi shifted on the couch, looking for a blanket to cover his cold feet when he saw him standing at the doorway to the balcony, his frame silhouetted against the dim light. They had an hour until the spinner came to fetch them from the pick-up point.

"Hey," Yoongi said, sitting up slowly. He leaned over and gathered the woollen blanket from where it had pooled in a heap on the floor. Jungkook turned around, this deer-caught-in-the-headlights look on his face. The living room was chilly and doused in acrid blue shadows.

"Couldn't sleep?"

"I was hungry," he said, then looked down at the floor, as if embarrassed. The jacket sagged on his shoulders and he'd taken his gloves off.

"I can fix something up," Yoongi said, inching himself off the couch. "You allergic to anything?"

Jungkook shook his head.

In the drafty kitchen with grey-tiled walls, Yoongi put a square of ramyun into a pot, standing there rubbing his eyes with one hand while he handled the chopsticks with the other. The water bubbled and frothed, a sound that amplified itself in the early morning silence. He eyed a plastic microwave box of his cold rice and pickled vegetable leftovers from dinner, which he'd taken out of the refrigerator. Jungkook came in and carefully washed his hands in the sink.

Yoongi could see the blimp through the open kitchen window - a gigantic one, with blinking lights adorning its digital billboard like a backstage dressing room mirror. It was drifting across the broad expanse of empty grassland, heading over the apartment blocks. The voice track was muffled and booming, like thunder from a distance, but he could make out the words.

_Good morning! Tune in to the local radio for breaking news. Vitamin D supplements are essential for life without sunlight in the hinterlands. Grab yours at the nearest pharmacist today! Do not forget to turn in your recyclables and register your weekly surplus on the home bloc. Today's lucky draw number is ..._

They watched it approach in silence, the waving spotlights getting brighter as it neared the apartment block.

_A new life can begin in the hinterlands. No charge for transfer, and a personal assistant to boot. Wallace Corp's newest models are out now: the Nexus 9, a hardworking, humble servant. Use them for anything! - cook, clean, drive you home, take care of the kids. Check in at your nearest property developer's office to make the switch today!_

This continued to play on loop until it got further and further away, dissolving into a faint murmur.

"You ever believed in all that stuff?" Jungkook said, leaning against the window pane and staring out.

"Well," Yoongi stirred the frothing water. "I wouldn't be here if I did."

He snuck a glance at Jungkook, saw the way his face had settled into a deeply dour countenance, eyes roaming the landscape. The early purple light of thunderclouds above had suffused the wilted grassland.

"Are you going to eat?" Yoongi said, scooping the food out into a metal bowl. He set it on the counter with a pair of clean chopsticks, then peeled the lid off his plastic container of cold rice and turned the stove off.

Jungkook walked away from the window and came back, hovering one hand over the steam that rose from the noodles for a few seconds before digging in. They stood and ate at the kitchen counter in silence, the only sound being that of water dripping into the sink.

"How'd you escape?" Yoongi asked, when they were packing up to leave.

Jungkook was putting on his gloves, carefully pressing the velcro straps down. He fiddled with them for a long time before looking up to answer him.

"A group hijacked a cargo ship. I happened to see one of them sneaking their way out, so they just took me along."

"They all came here?"

"No. I wanted to drop off in the city. The rest went out to find other colonies." He rolled his shoulder back, as if trying to stretch it. "They might have turned back here though."

They went out and rode the rattling elevator down, metal clanging deep inside the lift shaft and a humming fluorescent tube light screwed to the panelled ceiling. Jungkook moved closer to check his reflection in the scratched metal walls. He used one finger to push the curls of his fringe out of his eyes, then poked at the scar on his cheek. Yoongi stood on the other side of the lift, watching him without saying anything.

Yoongi decided to take a shortcut through a back alley which separated the apartment block from another one behind it. High above, the silhouettes of balconies cropped out the view of the dank overcast sky. The path ahead was flagstoned and wet with rain. Sidewalk plants sprung out of cracks in bricks along the sides.

Their pick-up point was a corner turn near a small budget motel. The sky had slowly turned dark pink, webbed with landline cables which were strung in messy lines and dripping with rainwater. A short distance away to the left, the motel gates slowly creaked open - two brown-painted grille things - and two people walked out of the motel down the sloping driveway, carrying plastic bags. Jungkook watched them cross the road.

The spinner arrived, leisurely cruising down to ground level. The driver in front wore goggles and had bad teeth. He motioned at them with a gloved hand.

"You guys cold?" he yelled over the thrumming engine. Yoongi climbed up, feeling the craft bob slightly from their combined added weight. "She said, Shika Inn, not Shika Hotel. I went to the wrong place. Sorry."

The doors slid down. The spinner lifted up and turned away, taking off over the roofs of houses. Jungkook was belting himself down in the back seat.

"Yokai-san," Yoongi said, making himself comfortable in the co-pilot seat. "Yeojin told me she was going to get an official -"

"I know. But I'm going down there for a delivery, so they figured I'd give you guys a lift. Doesn't matter, does it?" The guy steered with one hand, the other one pushing the dial of the thermostat up and down, like he couldn't decide on a comfortable temperature. "Supplier is sending extras again."

"This -" Yoongi rapped on the dashboard with his knuckles. "I've never seen a model like this before."

"Built this thing myself. Small enough to go into Wallace's warehouses." The pilot pushed his goggles up to his forehead and wiped at his red-rimmed eyes with a thumb. "They ring me up a few times. I usually run general cargo to the off-world colonies, but they like my refrigerated ship, so they use it a lot for medical deliveries too."

"What are you bringing there?"

"Not bringing anything there. Bringing back." He held up a hand, counting off his fingers. "Stem cells, frozen embryos, dialysis tubes."

"How's your other business been?"

"Not good. We're laying low this year." He turned to face Yoongi and lifted the other hand off the steering. "You know why?"

Yoongi's eyes went from his face to his hand, where he noticed the plaster cast.

"You got in a fight again, didn't you."

"There was a raid last month. Had to cop out on some deliveries coming in from the Martian base."

He kept quiet as they navigated a tight gap between two housing blocks. The next city was right ahead, over the giant canal. Yoongi looked down as they joined the line of spinners queuing up for clearance to enter the city. The spinner had gone down to a lower height now, hovering a few metres above the dark rippled water.

"This traffic is gonna take a while." Yokai turned the radio dial, winding through different stations. "What's your business at Wallace, anyway?"

"Taking that guy back." Yoongi jabbed his thumb towards where Jungkook was seated. "We got him in just last week.”

"Was he one of those they ran tests on a few weeks back? I heard about Seokjin."

"No," Yoongi said. "I don't think so. I got orders to bring him for a check-up."

"Huh." Yokai leaned back in his seat. "So you don't have a spinner?"

"It's a one-off thing. They didn't need to give me one."

"You're not staying, then?" Yokai grinned after saying this, the deep-set crinkles at the sides of his eyes showing up. "Let me guess. Mr Yeung struck a deal with you again."

Yoongi turned back to the street directory he was studying. "Something like that."

\---

It took them a little over thirty minutes to clear the queue, and another hour to get to Wallace. The building was a tall, glittering monolith of a pyramid, red lights of moving elevators pulsating across the facade like sequins. The glass reflected the deep orange of what little sunlight that could penetrate through all the clouds of dust.

"I'll leave you guys at the visitor centre, eh?"

"Okay." Yoongi picked up his bag from where he'd put it between his feet and turned around to check on Jungkook. He stared back at him, eyes wide.

They approached the base of the building, sliding to a stop just before a gaping dark chasm in the architecture, the two opposite sides lined with windows that went all the way up. Yokai pointed at a large sliding elevator door near ground level, the kind used in industrial buildings. The driveway leading up to it was wide and gently sloping, lined with red bars of light at the sides.

"Floor number two is where you need to be. I'll be making the last run at five, so you've got the whole day." Yokai pushed a button to open the doors. "If you wanna leave earlier on your own, just give the office a call."

The wind outside was rough but pleasantly warm, whipping across the tarred empty space before the building. Everything here was coloured a muted orange from the sunlight, the smell of dust and petrol fumes mixing with sand carried by the wind. Yoongi zipped up his jacket and started treading up the driveway, tilting his head up to survey what he could see of the building. The top had been obscured from view by voluminous fog. Yokai's spinner rose behind them and rounded the corner of the right wing, disappearing from view.

Inside the elevator, a stiff female voice from the speakers above requested them to hold eye contact with a bulbous-lensed camera above them. Only after it retracted back into the concealed panels of the ceiling did the doors close and the elevator begin to climb. It moved slowly, but there was no sound at all.

The second floor was a wide, sparse lobby, dimly lit for ambience. He could hear water rippling quietly in the background, see the shadows moving on the ceiling. A long concierge counter lined the wall, the same minimalist brown shade as the rest of the palatial space.

The elevator doors closed silently behind them.

"You've been here before?" Yoongi asked.

Jungkook shook his head.

Yoongi walked over to the counter, motioning for Jungkook to follow. Their footsteps were agonizingly loud on the floor. He went to the counter and tiptoed slightly to see what was behind it. It wasn't a counter at all. The space behind was filled with water, a bubbling oxygenator on the opposite end. Jungkook had gone up to take a look and was leaning so close to him that he could feel his breath on his cheek.

A loud hissing noise somewhere behind made them turn around. It was a short white android, about the height of a child. Where a face should have been was a large screen with a map on it.

They stayed where they were, waiting in silence. The screen pulsed gently.

"I have an appointment," Yoongi said. "Genetics. Ten a.m."

The map on the screen zoomed in to a portion marked out in orange.

"Thanks, that's what we need." He brushed past it to get to the elevator, touching Jungkook's shoulder as he went by. "Come on."

The rest of the building was deserted and blurred by shadows. All its corridors looked the same - polished wooden beams for the ceiling, a faint omnipresent yellow light reflecting off suspended glass panels. The same pulsating watery reflection on the walls and floor. They were led by the hovering white android to another wing of the establishment, this one a circular foyer on the first floor which opened up to a giant gloomy field of snow. Another unassuming grey industrial-looking building sat in the middle of it, a neat set of stairs going up to the entrance.

The android cruised away silently. Yoongi walked up to the foyer exit and stared up at the falling snow, realising that there was a giant glass dome which had been built to cover the entire field. It was grey all over, and he couldn't tell if it came from the sky above or if it was something artificial.

"I've never seen this place before," Jungkook whispered. "I didn't even know this wing existed."

They made their way to the building, where a metal sign reading STELLINE LAB had been affixed to the front.

Yoongi pulled Jungkook back slightly before they entered.

"I'm just ... telling you not to get your hopes up." He looked out into the broad expanse of the field, as if expecting something to appear. "And if they ask you anything directly, say you don't understand."

Jungkook's face was exceedingly pale in the bleak light.

"Okay?"

A nod.

The snow was getting all over their hair. Yoongi brushed it away from his eyes and they went up the stairs, entering through a sliding glass door.

The man at the reception stared them down in a way that he didn't like. He stood an arm's length away from the counter and waited while they confirmed the appointment. Jungkook sat down on one of the ottomans in the waiting corner. It was a sparse, clean space, artificial plants and countryside paintings hanging from the beige walls.

"Name?"

"Min Yoongi."

The man looked down and resumed typing. Yoongi scrutinised the design of the wall panel behind the reception desk, praying that Mr Yeung hadn't sent anything about a change in employment status to the authorities.

"Where do you come from?"

"The city. District 248."

"And who do you have with you?"

"A Nexus 9. I'm the owner."

"Name?"

"He doesn't have one. He had a concussion and he forgot. That's why I'm here."

The man gave him a long, hard look. Then he pushed something on his keyboard.

"You have an appointment in fifteen minutes to see Ms Hye." A plastic tag was slapped on the marble counter. "This is your call number."

The lab was a bare room, just one glass wall dividing it into two sections. A chair had been positioned slightly off-centre before the glass. It was dark inside, the only light which helped them see coming from bulbs which had been buried deep in the flooring. There was someone behind the glass, crouched over something at the far end of the room.

"Just a minute," she was saying. The lights grew darker and a large, life-like projection of a tropical forest filled the space behind the glass. The girl stood up to jab at a few plants with her finger before twisting the side of a giant cylindrical object she was holding. The projection collapsed and disappeared. The lights went on, brightening slowly until Yoongi could see her face properly. Large eyes. Long black hair. The white lab coat she had on gave her a decidedly apparitional appearance.

"Ms Hye," he said, in an attempt to be polite. "I have a Nexus 9 here -"

"The name's Olivia," she said, going up to the glass and placing her hand on it. "And who are you?"

"Yoongi. I had an appointment."

"Right," she said, gesturing at the chair. "Sit down."

Yoongi stepped aside. Jungkook squashed himself into the small chair, pressing his knees together.

"What's the problem?"

"He wants his memories examined."

"For?"

"To see if they're real."

She gave both of them a strange look, but didn't say anything about that. "Okay." She lifted the cylindrical object she was holding and jammed it against the glass. It fixed there, the other end facing them.

"Look through the pinhole," she instructed Jungkook. "- Here, it looks like it's too low -" she pulled it away and re-attached it higher up at eye level. "Better?"

"Yeah."

"Look through the pinhole," she repeated in a way that sounded like her attention was somewhere else, "and think of whatever you want me to look at. Don’t think too hard."

"I'm thinking," Jungkook said, leaning so close to the glass that his hair was brushing against it. "Can you see?"

Olivia looked in through the other end of the cylinder with one eye, the other squinted shut.

Silence, for a few minutes. She kept turning a dial which ran along the circumference, like she was adjusting the focus on a camera lens.

“You’re at a dumpsite …” she trailed off. “No, a hospital. It’s the facility hospital.”

Yoongi took a step back.

"Again," she said, her voice still as toneless as before. Yoongi was watching her reaction very closely.

“I’m recalling other things now, Ms Hye,” Jungkook said, a little sheepish. “I’m sorry if you saw any of that.”

She reached out to touch something on the side of the cylinder and pulled back with a heavy exhale.

"That's enough, thank you."

She took the object away from the glass and turned to face the open space behind the glass, holding it out in front of her. The lights dimmed. She twisted the dials again, and a clear image surfaced in front of them, taking up the entire room so it seemed like they were observing the scene at the site itself.

Jungkook as a teenager, bounding up to the base of the body chute outside the hospital. He crouched down and stuck a hand in, looking for something. After a few moments he pulled a small object out, dangling it by a string. Olivia adjusted the distance between them and the scene. They moved further in, until Yoongi could tell that it was the electric mouse he was talking about.

Someone off-screen called out to Jungkook. He dropped the mouse back into the body chute and got up, running away.

The lights went on. Olivia remained where she was, crouched on the ground in the same way Jungkook had squatted next to the opening of the chute. Yoongi noticed and went over to knock on the glass. She turned around, looking at him straight-on for the first time since they'd met. The dreariness of her gaze caught him off-guard.

She stood up, adjusting her coat as if she was trying to compose herself.

"Batch 97," she finally said, returning to that detached, matter-of-fact tone. "They're real. The memories are real."

The room was quiet. Jungkook sat in the chair, not moving.

“You’re sure?” Yoongi said.

“I’ve run through the minds of many replicants. I know a lived-out memory when I see one.” She paused. “It’s not good practice to put real memories into replicants.”

"... So you're saying that you don't remember making this."

"I didn’t make it. I wouldn’t make such a thing."

Yoongi scratched at his ear. "Okay," he finally said. "Thank you."

"Are you the owner?"

"Yes."

"You might want to reconsider hiring him."

"I will."

They left the room, and it was tense and quiet until they got out of the building. Jungkook moved slowly, trance-like in the way that he walked. Yoongi stopped them at the bottom of the stairs.

"Hey," he said, "don't look so upset."

"I'm not upset."

"The memories are real, and that's fine. I can VK you again just to be sure."

Jungkook didn't say anything, just carried on walking, heading back to the foyer of the main wing. The snow was pelting down hard on him, white specks all over his shoulders. He left large, deep footprints in the ground, his chunky boots kicking up drifts as he walked.

"Stop, stop," Yoongi called out, and Jungkook did. He turned around to face Yoongi.

"Can we go somewhere?"

Yoongi frowned slightly. "... Where?"

"The chute. I want to see the chute."

"Do you know where it is?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, if that helps. We'll go now."

Jungkook didn’t move, breathing harshly in the cold air.

"I’ve thought about doing this before," he said, walking again, "telling a doctor about it. But I never did."

Yoongi fell into pace with him, looking at the ground. "What stopped you?"

Jungkook waited until they had reached the foyer.

"Maybe it was better that I didn’t.”

\---

Each facility was a fenced-up village, each a small collection of funky houses. There were more colours here than Yoongi had expected, in the handkerchiefs tied to the chain link fence. Shoes tossed over power lines. Lawn ornaments next to the guardhouses. Not the maximum-security lockdown he'd been led to believe. Jungkook shielded his face and kept walking past each entrance gate, not stopping until they reached a large five-storeyed establishment, which overlooked an abandoned basketball court under a stretch of highway.

"The hospital," Jungkook said, with a little hushed edge to his voice. They came to the top of the hill which it had been constructed on. A set of stone steps had been cut into the side, leading down to the basketball court.

"This whole space -" Jungkook gestured, " - used to be a sports centre. But no one comes here anymore."

They reached the bottom of the stairs and started towards the court. The building at the back of the hospital compound was covered with a network of pipes and tubes. The basketball court behind them had been re-serviced as a depot, and was filled with rows of parked auto-rickshaws.

Jungkook pointed to a large, white column going down the entire length of the building.

"That's the body chute."

Yoongi followed the line of it down to the smaller building which they were standing behind.

"They throw the dead bodies down to the morgue here. The dead skin jobs. Some of them come out from treatment a little ... changed. We heard a lot of rumours."

They walked along the periphery of the outer wall, its surface dirty and weathered. They came to a low metal door, the kind used in melting furnaces. Yoongi recognised it from the memory re-enactment they'd seen earlier. The grey concrete flooring just before it was scratched and pockmarked, brown with discolouration.

"After that they'll wheel them to the road." Jungkook traced his finger in the air, pointing to the highway above. "And that's the way back out to Wallace."

"You've seen all this?"

"We used to watch from the street."

They studied the metal furnace door for a few seconds.

"I'll just open it," Jungkook said, shrugging. He squatted down and tugged at the handle, but there was only a rough creaking sound. It didn't move. He tried again.

"I guess they've got bodies in there," he said, with a slight grin. "Chock-full of bodies."

"It's locked."

Yoongi turned around. A brown-haired girl was standing on the basketball court. They regarded each other silently for a few minutes before she came over.

"It's locked," she repeated loudly, thinking that Jungkook couldn't hear her. "What are you guys looking for?"

"I ... lost something." Jungkook looked up from where he was.

The girl laughed. "Down there? A likely story."

She had a lollipop in her hand, hidden beneath the sleeve of a denim jacket which had been draped around her at the elbows. She put it into her mouth and stood there scrutinising the two of them.

"Don't look like you're from here."

"We aren't."

"You trying to steal bodies from the hospital?"

"No."

"Are you one of the Mercerites, then?"

Jungkook gave her a blank stare.

"Just kidding." She smiled. "They don't exist anymore. Mercerism and mood organs are obsolete"

"When are they going to unlock it?"

"I wouldn't know," she said, taking the lollipop out of her mouth. "I'm just a rickshaw driver."

Jungkook's shoulders slumped in defeat. He remained crouched on the ground, staring at the concrete.

"Haven't you seen them?" Yoongi said.

"No.” A long pause. “I know someone who might have, though."

"Is she here?"

"Yeah. We're on a lunch break now." She looked down at Jungkook, then back at Yoongi. "Wanna go over?"

They strode across the faded court, weaving their way through the rows of parked auto-rickshaws. There was a small sheltered seating area at the back, lined with wooden benches and long tables. Another girl was hunched over a tall piece of cake at one of the tables. She gave them curious looks as they approached.

"This is Yerim," the girl said, gesturing at her. "My name's Hyunjin."

Yerim appraised them with a smile. She pointed at a pink box on the table. "Do they want cake? We have cake."

"They were trying to open up the body chute, mind you." Hyunjin went to the back to retrieve paper plates and utensils. "I don't know what else they want."

Yerim blinked at them. "Why?"

"We're looking for something."

"That's a terrible place to lose something in."

Jungkook slid into the bench and slowly poured himself a glass of orange juice. Yoongi stayed where he was.

"Is he alright?" Yerim said, looking at Jungkook.

"He's just a bit dazed, that's all."

"Where are you from?"

"We just saw the doctor."

"You must be tired."

"He's tired."

"What did you lose?"

"Some old toy." Yoongi held out his hands to indicate the width of it. "About this size. Sentimental value to him, so he wants it back."

She nodded, licking buttercream off the fork. "How did it even get down there?"

"He dropped it a few years ago."

Her eyes widened. "No way."

“She said you’ve seen the people who open the chute.”

“Yeah. The morgue staff." A short pause. "Everybody knows that.”

Hyunjin was cutting the cake. "You guys went to see the doctor? Which one?"

"Stelline Labs."

The girls exchanged glances.

"So ... memory repair?" Hyunjin said, pushing a plate over to Jungkook. "Ms Hye?"

Yoongi thought something was a little off in the way she said the last few words, but he agreed.

"The lady's a little strange, right?" Hyunjin said, sitting down. "The only Nexus 9 models in memory repair I know are either dead or ... I don't know, maybe stuck in the hospital for the rest of their life."

"I thought we had a few in the team," Yerim said.

"It's just Blue and Satoshi-san," Hyunjin replied. "They're nearing expiry soon, anyway. Satoshi-san told me he thinks he's probably gonna croak in three months."

"Uh-huh." Yerim plucked the stem off her strawberry. "Are you gonna tell them about Olivia?"

Hyunjin laughed. "Should we tell them?"

Yoongi pretended not to hear. He was surveying the depot.

"Yeah, okay," Hyunjin said, looking at Jungkook. "So you see, Olivia's supposed to be a Tyrell-generation replicant, but she's outlived everyone with the same incept date."

Jungkook wiped his mouth with his hand. "How?"

"A lot of people think they modified her. Like, just so she could continue doing subcontracted genetic work forever. Just 'cos she's the best at it."

"When was her incept date?"

"In the 2030s? That's what the rumours say. I don't really know. But she's lived her years in double-digits by now. "

"Nexus 9s."

"She's not a Nexus 9. She was here way before the first Nexus 9 model walked the halls of Wallace."

Hyunjin paused to pour more juice into her glass.

"Tell him about the snow dome," Yerim said.

"Oh yeah," Hyunjin took a long drink and put the glass down. "The snow dome. You know that thing around her building? It's to keep her in, not to keep us out. The snow is created artificially. Twenty-four hours a day. They said her immune system is weak, so she's gotta be _quarantined_."

"So she never leaves?"

"Nope."

"Who brings her food?"

"Whoever's on desk duty. If you look carefully, you'll see that the poor guy or girl always looks pissed. They've had to deal with this for months."

Yerim dragged the juice pitcher over to her side of the table. "I go there once a month for memory check-ups. She's always got this really bored way of looking at you. Sometimes it's like she's not mentally there. And if you try to get her attention, she glares at you."

"She always glares at me," Hyunjin said. "Sometimes she stares at me all like - like I’m something the cat dragged in."

They lapsed into silence.

"Anyway, people aren't happy about it. They've started talking about her in the lunch halls and some of them say she’s been given special treatment by Wallace. People think she’s the one who started the memory virus."

Yoongi's attention pricked up. He turned around to face them. “Memory virus?”

“Datura. Some of them think she’s the source of it, since it destroys memories. You haven’t heard?”

"No.”

“It’s spread through the Hivemind. Started out as some kind of computer virus but somehow infected the memory implants of one particular Nexus 9 batch. We had a couple of rogue ones at the facilities the other day.”

“I heard some of them escaped."

"Escaped?" Yerim's expression became a little guarded. "I heard too, but I don't know if they were old models. The alarm was raised a few months ago."

"Where?"

"The facilities." Hyunjin took a big bite of the fruit on her cake and glanced at Jungkook. "Like, he would know, right?"

"He's having recall issues."

"Did he miss his check-up?" Yerim asked.

"A concussion."

"Oh." She put her utensils down. "I’m so sorry."

"It is what it is," Yoongi said, scanning their surroundings. "But he's slowly getting his older ones back. That's why we're here."

"I might be able to help you get the door open," Hyunjin said, after a long moment of silence.

"That would be great."

"How?" Jungkook said, putting his glass down.

"I can offer a ride home to one of the morgue staff in exchange for the keys. A lot of them live out of the colony. I can bribe one of those doing night duty."

Jungkook stared at his empty plate. "Would it work?"

"I've, uh, done it before. For an excuse to leave the county at four in the afternoon." She waved her hand. "Long story."

"When are you going to do it?"

"I can go now." She turned to Yoongi. "When are you leaving?"

"This evening."

She slid off the bench, rattling her ignition keys. "I'd better act fast, then."

She returned in fifteen minutes. Yerim and Jungkook had been talking about mundane developments in the facilities to pass the time. Yoongi was picking at the last of the cake in the box.

"Hey," she said, sounding a little breathless. "They haven't used it in a week, but they can try to search the landing chamber for you."

"Do we wait?"

"I guess." Hyunjin sat down. "Bet it's gonna smell of dead bodies, though. Ever tried digging up a grave? You should try it one day."

Yerim got up and went to the back. She returned with a jacket.

"I've got a call for me on facility ten," she said, slinging it over her shoulder. "Good luck with the search. It was lovely talking to you."

They watched her leave.

"You were talking about Ms Hye," Yoongi said later, turning to Hyunjin. "Is she the only one working in Stelline Lab?"

"The one and only. Wallace’s darling. Resident princess known for being the only Nexus 8 who got a job promotion in one day."

"So she programs for all Nexus models."

"Yeah." Hyunjin was folding a paper napkin. "And we don't like the idea that she's an inferior, older model and still continues to live a better life than most Nexus 9s. Doesn’t seem fair."

She folded the edges into triangles, running her fingernail along the crease lines.

"Replicants have only one mission in their entire life and that's to fulfil their vocation. Class A to C Mental. We’re given time limits to our lives, decided from the day they assign us a vocation. It’s like knowing exactly when you’ll die."

She turned the napkin over. Yoongi realised she was making an origami animal.

"It makes people mad. They think that if she gets an extension, there's no reason why they can't give it to everyone as well."

Jungkook was laying his head sideways on the table, tapping the side of his empty glass with the tines of his fork.

"What do you make of it?"

"Make of what?"

"Having implants. Do you know they're implants?"

"Of course we do," she said with a laugh. She put the finished origami piece on the table. "But if it's good enough, you can almost believe that it's real."

Yoongi reached out and picked up the paper unicorn, turning it around.

"Humans live for those things too, don't you?" Hyunjin said, looking at him. "Memories."

"Yeah."

"Same goes for us." She looked out at the depot. "The memories we have just don’t belong to us."

A janitor had come over in the late afternoon with a large pail of broken items for them to look at. Jungkook pored through the pieces until he found the disintegrating fake animal at the bottom of the pile. It had broken into a few pieces.

He laid them out on the table. Hyunjin surveyed the damage.

"Nothing a glue gun won't fix."

They discarded the interior motor and fixed the shell back together. The felt tail had to be cut off. Jungkook wrapped it up in a plastic bag to take home.

By then, the sun was already gone, and now the depot was lit up with the headlamps of arriving rickshaws. A few riders had taken off for the night shift. Some had returned, and they were crowding into the shelter with dinner.

"I guess this is as far as I can go," Hyunjin said, waving them off at the exit to the highway. She'd ferried them out to the pick-up point. "Can't leave the county without a permit."

They got off at the road shoulder, the pink and green lights of her rickshaw flashing and blinking against the tarmac.

"Thanks for helping," Yoongi said. Hyunjin only smiled in response.

Yokai's red-lit spinner was approaching in the distance. Up here, the sky was very dark.

\---

Back in the apartment, Jungkook set the mouse down on the coffee table and examined it.

"It's real, alright," Yoongi joked, walking past. "You're treating it like it's going to disappear once you look away."

“There’s something strange about it,” Jungkook said. “It’s like - I could have sworn that it looked different to me the other day.”

“Maybe you didn’t look hard enough.”

Yoongi went back to his room to hang up his towel. He saw the file on the desk and took it out with him. With the way things were moving now, he needed to slow down and carefully think about what he wanted to do next.

“I’ll head back to Wallace tomorrow to get a copy of your memory report,” Yoongi said, closing the door of his room. “We’ll need it if I want to argue for anything.”

Jungkook watched him walk back to the couch.

"I'll run the test on you again, just to be sure." Yoongi sat down with a grunt. "We might have to check birth records. It's not that easy."

They were quiet as he laid the file out on his lap and flipped to Jungkook's particulars page.

"What am I going to do now?"

“You’ll have to stay put here, in the apartment.”

“Again?”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi looked over at him. “I can’t have you running around the city while my superior waits for me to send in your death report. You’re not off the hook yet.”

Jungkook shifted closer on the couch to look at the documents on his lap.

"Why are you doing all this?"

"I don't want to end up in jail for killing a human."

"Before that, you were so convinced that I wasn't one."

"I'm still not convinced," Yoongi said. "I'm just being careful. This -" he turned the page. "- if I make a mistake you'll be alone out here. You'll be hunted down again, probably by someone better. Someone who won't stop to think. You okay with that?"

\---

The next day came, and he found himself back at Stelline Lab again, only this time he was alone. He got the report from the front desk and asked to see Olivia again.

Olivia had been busy with something when he entered. It was all dark, nothing but snow pouring from the ceiling. They floated like dust specks in a single beam of light. She turned around and noticed him.

If she was surprised, she didn't show it.

"What's the problem this time?"

"There isn't a problem. I need to ask you something."

"I don’t usually get lone human visitors, but okay."

"About the memories," Yoongi said, looking at the device in her hand. "Do you design all of them?"

Olivia shrugged. "Yeah."

"Where do you get the ideas from?"

"I don’t usually tell people." She looked like she was about to say something else, but didn't. Yoongi frowned slightly, stuck, then saw her fingers fiddling skittishly about the device.

“Have you ever used any of yours?”

“I told you already. That’s illegal.”

"How does the process work, exactly?"

She considered the question for a moment.

"Do you want me to tell you, or show you?"

He shook his head. "Whatever fits."

“I happen to be working on something now. Would you like to see?”

“Sure.”

So she got up and moved to the center of the room, leaving a wide space between herself and the spot-lit area for him to see what she was making. She dimmed the lights again. Yoongi moved closer to the glass.

"I start with something small," she explained in this quiet, brooding way, turning both sides of the device back and forth. In front of her, a digital projection of a tower of blocks materialised. "Usually it's an object."

She was rendering it. Grooves appeared in the wood, small shifts in the way they were stacked so it looked imperfect. A flickering in the background, and she had created the likeness of two small children seated on either side of the table. Adjustments were made to the corners of their smiles, how their eyes opened, the way each hand was animated to reach out for the toys on the table. The effect was uncanny, like an invisible tool tugging at parts of clay models to shape them into something else.

"Sometimes it makes me wonder who gets all these things," she said, although she was speaking more to herself now than to him. "Who the lucky person will be. Memories are just events until they find a home in a person’s mind."

She was carving blobs of colour into different toys, painting on patterns and accessories.

“If you’re curious about what I do, it’s restoration most of the time. Or else, I’ll help with customisation. As long as it’s something I’ve seen before, I usually don’t have a problem making something believable enough to function for an experience.”

“Do you remember everything you make?”

“It’s inevitable to forget some of them … especially the more unremarkable ones. Not everything I make is good.”

Olivia was bending close to the figures, frowning slightly, her eyes focused.

“Mr Min, if you don’t mind me asking more about your Nexus 9.”

Yoongi didn’t say anything.

“Where did he come from?”

“The facility, like everybody else.”

“Has he ever told you about anything he remembers from there?”

“Sometimes. Why?”

“Many of them do. It’s the only organic memory they’ll ever cultivate of their earliest years, unfortunately. But those are important. Most of the time it shapes their later motives.”

Yoongi shifted his weight from one foot to the other, standing behind the glass.

Olivia looked up. “What do you make of his situation?”

“Of Jungkook’s?”

She nodded.

“We don’t really know what to do. That’s why I’m collecting the report.”

“Has he told you?”

“About?”

“That he thinks he might be human?”

Yoongi fiddled with the envelope distractedly. “Yes.”

“It’s a natural reaction,” she said. “It’s someone else’s experience that he’s feeling. No matter how well-made they are, implants can never compare to the real thing.”

Yoongi glanced down at the report in his hand. He took it out of the envelope.

“The memory here … how could you tell that it was real?”

Olivia was tapping on something in the design prop, and a funny humming sound filled the room.

“Because it has a narrative,” she said. “Created ones don’t connect to anything else. They’re standalones, just enough to satisfy the owner that they were real, but not vivid enough to remember completely. Your Nexus 9 -” here she looked up at him. “Your Nexus 9 model has an entire repository of them. He’s … slowly remembering things. Every single memory he pulls up brings out another one that retains the same lens, the same narrative sequence. They’re bold enough to convince him that he’s more than what he thinks.”

She paused to contemplate the model.

“Has he ever told you about why he escaped?”

“How do you know he escaped?”

“It’s all in his mind. Like I said, I couldn’t see just one memory in isolation. It shifts and moves, becomes something else. I see the whole picture in the end.”

“I see.”

“So did he tell you?” She regarded him carefully. “This is confidential patient information. I can’t tell anyone else about it.”

Yoongi folded up the report, taking his time.

“No, but I’ve heard people saying something about an uprising.”

“Halfaxa, you mean.”

Yoongi blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“They’re talking about Halfaxa. Or the Replicant Freedom Movement, as it’s called now. People tell me different things.”

“What’s that?”

“From what I’ve heard, it’s an underground movement. They’re fighting against the memory retention virus,” she said. “When you first brought him in with those symptoms, I thought I would end up diagnosing him with that.”

Yoongi kept his expression blank.

“A small breakout in the training facilities, that’s what it is,” she continued, seeing that he didn’t seem to know what it was. “A virus that starts eating away at memories of replicants like a cancer cell, transmitted through neurocables. They call it Datura.”

“Is it serious?”

“Of course it’s serious. Else he wouldn’t have run away, would he?”

“I didn’t know.”

“They wouldn’t tell the public about this. It undermines customer confidence. Wallace seems to have it under control, for now.”

The set-up had been completed. She swivelled the projection around like a 3-D model on its base so they could examine it from all sides.

"I never make two memories exactly the same. Every replicant has a different way of interpreting these ... it's like a signature."

The figures started moving, enacting the motion of play-acting. They watched the diorama unfold in silence.

“People don’t really seem to notice that I’m here when they come in,” she was saying. “Most of the time they’re the ones doing all the talking. I just listen. It’s like a therapy session. They wouldn’t even notice if I wasn’t there.”

“I understand,” he said. “How long have you been in this practice?”

“A long time,” Olivia said. “This is my life. I’ve been doing this for my entire life.”

“How did you end up here?”

“I’ve always been here.”

“You don’t ever remember entering?”

“It’s not possible for one to remember things as they truly were, Mr Min,” she said quietly. “Sometimes people just choose not to remember.”

He ignored that, not knowing how to reply. “People say you’ve been here for years.”

“If they say so.”

“Why the glass wall?” he tapped lightly on it. “And the snow?”

“It’s for the sake of my health,” she said. “To keep people out.”

“And who told you that?”

Olivia didn’t answer.

Yoongi watched the children moving around the table in slow motion.

“You’re working for Wallace, aren’t you?”

“I’m a subcontractor.”

“You’re a product of Wallace.”

“Who told you I’m a product of Wallace?” she said. “Wallace never explained anything. I was raised in a void of a place where I had to imagine things for myself. The haptics and visuals. The smells and what things tasted like. Maybe that’s how I got here, but at what cost? Some of us never had the benefit of proper memories to keep us going.”

Yoongi didn’t say anything.

She hunched over her device, turning something on it. Her voice lost any trace of the slight emotion it had before.

“You’ve probably never had to do any of that.”

Yoongi stared at the memory projection. Olivia dimmed the projection and got to her feet, moving towards the glass. He suddenly saw it, barely perceptible but visible against the folds of Olivia’s white lab coat. A large silver military dog tag on a chain. She got closer, enough for him to see that there were words engraved into the metal. Then she was standing there with the device in both hands, waiting. He darted his eyes back to her face.

“Now, are you going to ask me anything about the report?”

Yoongi held the envelope up limply, as if expecting it to answer for him. He hadn’t read it at all.

Her eyes were even darker in the poor light. When she moved, it was slow, and he could see how tense each step she took towards the glass was.

"Thank you for your time," she said, and the voice was cold, almost dead. "Please take this and go."

The first thing he remembered thinking while leaving was that there was something very wrong with the entire set-up. Olivia had been tagged, trapped inside a place without the freedom to move anywhere. Nobody knew anything about her and she worked alone. She also didn’t seem to trust Wallace. It had all the makings of an unsatisfied employee, or something worse.

Which made Jungkook’s memory anomaly all the more suspicious.

He caught Yokai’s spinner back, as crowded and uncomfortable as it was with his extra haul of passengers. The giant building of Wallace Corp retreated into the reddish fog behind the ship.

The guys inside were talking in loud voices, joking crudely about something they’d seen back there. Yokai had a large container on the passenger seat next to him, and it was strapped down with a seatbelt. There was not much room for anything else. Yoongi was in the back seat and used the time spent on the journey to read through the report, or what he could understand of it.

It wasn’t really a report, more a simple description of the memory sequence in layman’s terms, a recommendation to visit for another check-up, and a referral to Wallace for further confirmation. It was personally written by Olivia herself, a name printed at the bottom of her signature and job position, all of it very deft and impersonal.

In the dark ship, with only pink light coming through the tiny oval-shaped window next to his seat, he focused on that small, neatly printed name.

She had mentioned Halfaxa again, the same thing Hoseok was telling him about in the cab. Halfaxa had evolved into something else entirely, something he wasn’t sure he completely understood. There was no way it could be a coincidence - someone from their school must have brought the idea there.

Yet, he didn’t quite know if he could believe her or not. 

They touched down back at the office, where he returned the original documents he'd taken to make copies of back to the archive room. No one saw him go in or leave.

He quickly left and went to find a public payphone, pulling the booth door shut behind him. Inside, he laid his spare coins out on top of the calling unit, pushing one in and dialling for Hoseok.

Hoseok was in his car, but he picked up, leaving the vidscreen switched off over at his end. Yoongi asked him if there was any chance that they could meet the same afternoon for him to ask a few questions. There was tropical synthwave blasting over his car speakers in the background.

“Sure thing, friend,” Hoseok said. “I’m always happy to help.”

“It’s about that Halfaxa movement,” Yoongi said, and he turned around to check if anyone was waiting outside the booth, but the glass walls were blurry with rain droplets from the morning shower. “I think you may be right about something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [done to this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=quZx6ksrUDA)


	4. nihilist blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chuuves appearance

The substation was a hot, foul-smelling mess. Underground chambers which tunnelled this way and that, the heat rising down there, everything rendered in neon or pitch darkness, sweaty bodies of revellers who partied until they lost track of time. Hoseok agreed to meet him at a stated address that could be reached by the underground railroad service, which was really just a string of automated carts on rusty tracks that wound through the red-lit limestone caves connecting all the different precincts.

Yoongi had come face to face with a large metal garage in a small alley, the hanging blue overhead lights of the substation illuminating a ratty sign that read HIGH FUNCTIONALITY. The metal rolling shutter had been pulled down, leaving only a small gap at the bottom where faint light could be seen. A few potted plants were stacked around the sides of the entrance.

He waited outside for a few minutes, getting increasingly confused. The alley was mostly clear, just a few people milling around in flashy clothes, pausing near one of the bins to snuff out their cigarettes. Bored, he watched the thin curls of smoke rise.

Then someone was coming out. He heard shuffling feet, saw a shadowy patch in the thin line of light below the shutter. The shadow paused for a beat, then fingers curled over the bottom and dragged the metal up with a vibrating roar.

It wasn't Hoseok. It was a guy with black hair, sunglasses hanging off the back of his ears, sharply-defined facial features. He stood there, mouth slightly open with both hands still holding up the weight of the shutter over his head.

"You looking for anything?" he asked after a few seconds.

Yoongi tried to look past him, to see if anyone else was behind. The guy moved to see what he was staring at, then turned back, eyebrows raised.

"Hoseok told me to come here."

Sudden realisation. "Yoongi." He wiped his dirty hands on his jacket – a nice brown woollen thing – and held one of them out. "I couldn't recognise you for a moment."

Yoongi shook it. "You're ... ?"

"Taehyung," the guy said, letting down the shutter behind them. He stopped where he was, looked Yoongi up and down.

"Long ride?" he said. Yoongi noticed he'd been chewing on something the whole time they were speaking.

"Yeah."

"You came here by car? Train?"

"Cart," Yoongi corrected. Taehyung grinned broadly and clapped him on the back, pushing him towards the centre of the shed. "Hoseok will be back. You just sit here, take off your shoes, eat something. Make yourself comfortable."

It was cooler in here than the streets outside, but just as untidy. It would have made a good-sized house back on land, the four walls adorned with various stringed decorations and Christmas lights, framed abstract-looking paintings and all kinds of origami animals crowded on a long bench table near the back. In one corner, a bunch of easel boards, neatly folded against the wall, some left standing. The more he looked, the stranger the place became.

"You live here?" he asked, perching on the edge of a brown couch that was caving downwards on one side under the weight of a stack of magazines.

"Yeah." Taehyung went back to whatever he was fiddling with - some kind of grey console set with a little boxy screen and a gaming handset. A single lamp hung directly above him, spotlighting the whole set-up. He sat cross-legged, sorting through piles of cartridges which were strewn across the floor. He chose one and slotted it into the grey console.

"This is your first time in the substation, I'm guessing." Taehyung said, not taking his eyes off the screen. He pressed a small adhesive synaptic disc to the back of his neck and plugging the connected neurocable into the screen unit.

"How'd you know?"

Taehyung looked up at him, amusement in his eyes. "You're sweating like a pig."

"Is it always this hot down here?" Yoongi pulled at his windbreaker.

"Yeah." Taehyung shrugged, eyes going back to the screen. "You get used to it after a while."

Yoongi surveyed the glass coffee table in front of him, an oval-shaped piece of furniture that wouldn't have looked out of place in his house, except that the legs had been sawed off and replaced with plastic mannequin legs wearing shoes. It was piled with jars of food items, a tin of milk powder, packet food, a basket of fruit. He leaned over and swiped a banana, settling back and peeling it.

Eating, he looked up at the ceiling and realised that it was covered with paintings. It was hard to see in the dark blue light, but parts of the zinc ceiling were layered with plaster, some kind of buon fresco thing done all over them in different pastel colours. In another corner, a large graffiti mural of a majestic-looking tiger and crane, frozen in mid-action. The paintings merged into one another, as if the person didn't finish the pieces and went on to start new ones.

Taehyung dropped the game handset to the ground with a clatter and quickly ejected the old cartridge, throwing it to the side, grabbing a new one from the pile. He repeated this every few minutes.

"What are you doing?" Yoongi asked, after a while.

"... Hm?" Taehyung hit a button on the grey console and looked up, still chewing on his gum or whatever the hell it was. "Yeah?"

"Are you playing a game?"

"Yeah."

"You have a lot of those little plastic things."

"They're old ones. Salvaged from a scrapyard." Taehyung contemplated the pile for a beat, then beckoned. "Wanna have a look?"

Yoongi got up, still munching on the banana. He stooped down over the pile, seeing the way the odd blue light reflected off the silvery labels. There were words written on them. He lowered himself to a squat, pushed aside random pieces with one hand, turning them around. _Orion (v-2). Andromeda. Set Things on Fire._ He scoffed.

Taehyung had gone back to his game, but with less intensity now. He was talking, saying something about having to slop through the samples while the trader argued with this other guy over the price of fish.

"That loudmouth was going on and on about how he hadn't eaten a piece of real tuna in forty years, asking the fish guy if he could please do the math, what did that add up to and all that. He'd never eaten a piece of real tuna in his life and he wanted to have a whole piece in exchange for six bits of these things." Taehyung pointed at the pile. "I also heard you can break them down into parts for nanomanufacturing."

"Looks like it." Yoongi turned one around in his hands.

Taehyung suddenly stopped what he was doing, staying very still. Yoongi looked up.

"What?"

"Someone's coming." Taehyung pulled the synaptic disc off. He got up and padded softly towards the entrance. He stood in front of it, listening with intense concentration, his mouth slightly open in a half-grin. Then he walked back.

"Hoseok's here," was all he said.

A minute later, the shutter was pulled up. Hoseok came in, wearing a colourful print shirt and jeans, sunglasses on his face. He looked like he'd been out holidaying somewhere. Yoongi eyed him as he came over and kicked off his shoes.

"Hey," he said, looking really happy.

"How'd it go?" Taehyung said, hitting the pause button on his game. "The guy let you through?"

"Yeah. Gave me a good tip too." Hoseok patted his pocket. Taehyung was shaking his head, chuckling quietly to himself as he went back to his game.

Hoseok pushed the sunglasses off, looked at Yoongi. "You've met Taehyung."

"I couldn't recognise him at first," Taehyung said, waving his game console about. "He just stood outside there, waiting. I heard someone come but they didn't move away."

"You can just knock next time." Hoseok said. He went over to the other side of the room and grabbed one of the stray cans of spray paint sitting on a workbench.

"Hyung," he said, looking at Yoongi. "Come over here."

Yoongi went to see what he was pointing at. He got closer and realised that they were staring at a building layout plan.

"What's this?"

"New paint job. Taehyung's sketches. We're decorating the garage next door."

"He has ... another one?"

"It's for cars. Car Wash, paint job, you name it. He's into, uh, vintage street racing and stuff. We keep them there too. For rental."

Hoseok shook the can and left it on the desk. As if on cue, he motioned for them to head out, lowering the rolling shutter behind Yoongi.

"It's just here," he said, pointing at the louvred entrance of the building next to them. It was locked. This one didn't even have a basic iris scanner, just a traditional lock. Yoongi watched him turn the key twice, then rushed forward to help him heave the bars up.

Dust rose from the floor as they went in. Hoseok clapped his hands twice and the halogen lights slowly lighted up, row by row. There were three sports cars parked inside. Shiny, polished, well-painted. They were each covered with a thin, sheer piece of tarpaulin. It was like a showroom.

Yoongi stared. "Wow."

"It cost us quite a bit, but I'd say it's a good investment. You hardly see these things around anymore. Vintage. Now everyone's up in arms over hover cars and hovercraft and what have you." He laughed and placed his hands on his hips. "We kinda bought this place together."

"So you guys are ... like, business partners."

"Something like that."

"You seem really close."

"It's just because we share similar interests," Hoseok said, rubbing at his neck. "It's not exactly serious business. I’m just helping out."

They lapsed into silence. Outside, someone walked past, smoking.

"Let's go back," Hoseok said, forcing a laugh. He placed one hand on Yoongi's shoulder and gently nudged him out. “While we wait, maybe I’ll ask Taehyung to introduce you to his own hivemind.”

“The game room?” Taehyung said, looking up from his console. “That’s at the data hub.”

“Tell him about what you do. He might find it interesting.”

So they walked a short way along the backstreet behind the garage, dark blue-lit shops selling guns and tapped vidphone models. They reached a large, dark hall with a dome atop it, sandwiched between two three-storied computing server buildings. Taehyung led them in.

There was a room first, all blank canvases propped up against cellotaped boxes and more plastic crates stuffed with rolled-up calligraphy paper. A heap of silvery spray paint cans all tipped over on a single carpet, the wall above the pile marked with crosses and strange drawings he couldn't decipher. A network of tin cans was lined up along the floor in a pattern.

They moved further inside, towards the centre of the dome. The hallway they were moving through had black walls, completely covered with a multitude of flashing white screens. In the scarce light, Yoongi could see the long wires connecting every screen to each other, trekking across the wall like vines.

Taehyung stopped there, in the middle of the corridor. There was a strong white light coming down from the ceiling, but only on him and not on anything else.

“This place runs all the time.” He looked up and surveyed the wall of lights. “It connects my game console to many other locations.”

“You play with others?”

“It’s a game. For real money. People post challenges on the data boards and we complete them using the consoles. Kind of like, multi-player, but with holograms.”

“What kind of …”

“Relax,” Hoseok said, laughing. “It’s just some harmless fun. He presses a button on his console and a car explodes into flames on the other side of town. The car isn’t even real. They’re all holograms. People just like to watch.”

“Plug your console into a neurocable and you can contact anyone like this,” Taehyung explained. “It’s better than using a vidphone. I can have five people on the same screen and talk to all of them at the same time.”

They continued walking down the hall. Taehyung eventually left them inside to look around and headed back to the garage. The overhead light went off, and it was dark again, with all those silent flickering white screens.

Yoongi spoke in a whisper. “Is that how he got so rich?”

“You play by their rules, you win.” Hoseok shrugged. “They call the game Nerve. He’s not the only one. There are so many people I know who got a lot of money in, uh, easier ways.”

“Seems like you miss a lot when you stay up there.”

“Up there it’s hard work. But you get your dues.” Hoseok looked distantly down the length of the hall. “Down here it’s mostly luck. You either got it, or you don't.”

Inside, Taehyung had chucked his game console aside and was now crouched over a flat canvas, dabbing at something on it with a brush. He looked up as they came in.

"So what'd he come here for, anyway?" Taehyung said, bending closer to work on some detailed part of the painting. It was a big bird with black feathers. The wet paint glistened under the halogen lights.

"He's got some people to track down," Hoseok said, shaking the spray can of yellow paint. He bent down. "Where's this supposed to go?"

Taehyung mimed an arc on the glossy black. "Just one broad line, like that."

Hoseok stepped over and inked a clean yellow line. Yoongi watched them both.

Finally, when they'd settled into silently working on their separate parts, he spoke. "I wanted to ask you guys about Halfaxa."

Taehyung paused mid-brushstroke. He looked up. "What about it?"

"You guys had a big following?"

Taehyung looked back down, continued dabbing away with the brush.

"It was just a fun little thing we did. I don't think anyone wanted to follow us, per se," he said, wiping his hands on a damp cloth. "I'd probably ask Namjoon-hyung, if I were you. He would know more."

"Yeah, that's the problem, you see," Hoseok said, mixing a batch of silvery paint with what looked like ground flakes of aluminium. "I don't know where he is. Nobody knows where he is."

Taehyung shrugged.

"Anybody else I can ask?" Yoongi pressed.

"Maybe we'll get the rest together later," Hoseok said, still stirring vigorously, "and we can all talk about it over drinks."

"Yeah, that sounds fine," Yoongi said, although he thought it all a little too informal. "How long would that take?"

Taehyung checked the clock on the wall, this gothic-looking grandfather relic. "Well, Jimin has a show at eleven, so he'll make it in time for lunch." He paused. "Yves ... I guess she'd be attending the textile auction, so she'll be here too. You're in luck."

"Is that everybody?"

"Just the regulars at the substation."

Hoseok set the mixing bowl down. "Do you wanna go and look for Jimin?"

"Where is he?"

"Broadway," Hoseok said, then, noticing Yoongi's blank expression, got up. "Come on, I'll take you there."

\---

They rode the cart out. It shook and shuddered with the queasiness of an abandoned jalopy and was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with folk of all shapes and sizes. Yoongi found himself jammed between a lady with cropped hair the colour of orange juice and a middle-aged man with a chronic burping problem. Hoseok was squashed opposite him, hands covering his kneecaps. The toes of their shoes were touching. Below their feet, the sheet plate rattled loudly.

"It gets worse as you go down towards Toxitown," Hoseok quipped. And it did. By the time they'd dropped off at the station under a wildly colourful neon sign, Yoongi had to stop for water.

They stayed where they were for a while, just watching pedestrians pass by. Everything here was covered with a neon fixture of some sort, whether tastefully artistic or flat-out garish. Yoongi found himself staring at a tall pink-robed neon Chang'e spanning the entire two-storey facade of a shophouse.

Hoseok glanced at him. "You alright?"

"Yeah."

"Wanna go over now?"

"Okay."

Hoseok moved out from under the giant neon sign and crossed a small lane along the side of the cart station. The lights above cast orange, pink and yellow hues on the tarmac, a very sickly mixture of summery ice-cream colours. Broadway was a large establishment which took up about half the street - a grand one-storied sprawl of a building done up in red paint and networks of pipes, more neon and fancy golden doors. There were people outside, standing around with cigarettes and cocktails.

Hoseok walked up to the sheltered outdoor foyer and placed one hand on the looping door handles, waiting for Yoongi.

"We're here," he said, grinning a secretive sort of smile, before they headed in.

The whole place was swathed in neon lit darkness and full of people. Loud music thumped away somewhere high above and further down in front, a booming bass effect that echoed in the vast space of the theatre. It sounded awful. Yoongi thought he'd crashed into a drunken cult party.

Hoseok was saying something, but he couldn't hear him. They gave up trying to talk after a while and Yoongi followed him down long, dark corridors punctuated with round white lamps until they'd left the mess behind. There were people making out in the corridors in various stages of undress.

"My god," Hoseok was saying, swatting something from his face, "I thought happy hour wasn't on till six."

"Where's Jimin?"

"He's on another stage. What we just passed through was the depravity of Broadway. The real art happens on the other side. You just have to step through the puke and whatever."

They continued walking through more entrances, empty foyers with exquisite interior decoration - Yoongi found himself slowing down to take a peek at the furniture and lighting fixtures before moving on. Hoseok had pre-empted him along the way as they sped through halls decorated with the decadence of modern palace rooms.

"So, here's the thing about Jimin." Hoseok stopped, waiting for Yoongi to finish checking out a scallop-edged lampshade. "He's good at what he does. Like, _really_ good. They all love him. And he's a busy guy, so you'll only get at most, what, around an hour of his full and undivided attention." They moved on to the next room. "After that he'll be whisked off with the troupe to some other stage set or another gig somewhere in town -"

They stopped again, and this time it was an ornate candelabrum with coppery finishing.

"- If you like these _so much_ , hyung, maybe you should consider cosying up to those aunties and uncles who drool over mouldy vintage wallpaper and cracked Peranakan tiles at the trading post. They have a clubroom in the substation and I have their business card."

They soon reached a towering, official-looking entrance with the same set of fancy gilded doors. Hoseok pushed them open and they entered another large concert hall with a hulking blue, cuboid grid stage in front. There were people on it, hazily illuminated under bright spotlights. The audience stood below in neat rows, all faceless shadowy forms holding mirror-like objects up in the air.

"How come we don't have to pay?"

"They recognise me. Jimin always tells them to let me in."

They stood near the back, hovering somewhere behind a security guard in a luminous yellow vest.

"He's not done yet," Hoseok said. "They should be ending in ten minutes. She's about to give her final speech."

"That's the frontwoman?"

"Yeah. Ririko something. Look at the way she moves. They say she plucked her own eye out back in the days when she used to model, that's why she always has an eyepatch over it."

The lady in front was garbed in a chilli red floor-length gown that shedded feathers and glitter all over the stage. She was singing. Black bangs, neatly cut in a straight line. A pound of makeup on her eyes. A red eyepatch that looked like a pincushion on a strap. She was very pretty, nobody could deny that.

"I can't really see from here."

"I'm telling you, she can't be human. Every show I go to, she hits all the high notes no problem. But that way of staring. The damn eyelash thing. Always gave me the creeps. The other people are fine, it's just her. She rubs me the wrong way, you know?"

"What did you say her name was again?"

"Ririko." Hoseok paused. "That's what the fans call her."

Yoongi observed, not saying anything. She was speaking in Japanese, her backup dancers crowding around behind her with smiles and glittery black outfits. He tried to look for Jimin, but to no avail. Hoseok had taken to making small talk with the security guard.

Yoongi tapped Hoseok to tell him he'd be going in front. He slowly nudged his way through the crowd, realising that all of them were wearing long, black hooded robes. They were cheering, waving those rectangular mirrored panels in the air. When he got within two rows of the stage, he stopped, sandwiched between tall, plump people. He looked up, staring at Ririko and the dancers in their glittery extravaganza, the stage lights pulsing above them.

They did another short number and an encore before the audience started to disperse, flooding out slowly though the double doors. The hooded robes were a merchandise that all the fans possessed, emblazoned with red gilding and, he noticed after looking around, a looping cursive signature of her name down the right sleeve.

On stage, the dance crew were posing for photos, talking with the costume crew as they started pulling out their in-ear monitors, taking off headgear, masks and gloves. Hoseok rushed up to where Yoongi was, looking a little confused.

"I thought you'd disappeared. Couldn't see you through the clusterfuck of grim reapers." He waved at the stage and a single lithe figure detached himself slowly from the mass group hug, waving at someone before walking in their direction to the edge of the stage.

"Jimin," Hoseok was saying, all smiles. "Yoongi. He's the one I told you about."

Jimin lowered himself to a squat and swung his legs over so he was sitting at the corner of the giant blue cube. His hair was a metallic grey, sprayed to look like it was wet and drooping over one eye.

"Hi," he said brightly, grinning in this real saccharine way, the kind of smile people normally didn't flash down here in the doldrums of the city. Yoongi found his attention drawn to all the glitter on his loose shirt, the shine of the fabric.

"Great show," Yoongi replied, nodding.

"It’s nice to see you."

"Same here."

"He's been roughing it out in substation territory," Hoseok said, slinging one arm over Yoongi's shoulders. "Doing a lot for his cause."

"Thanks for coming," Jimin said, swinging his legs slightly. They bumped against the side of the stage. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Later. With the rest."

"Ah, right," Jimin said, fiddling with his in-ear monitors. "Right ..." he paused to turn around, looking at someone who had been shouting his name. Then he got to a half-kneel, meaning to stand up.

"Gotta go. I'll catch up with you guys later."

"See you?" Jimin raised his hand in a mid-wave.

Yoongi waved back, not knowing what else to do, and Jimin flashed that arresting smile, this time directed only at him.

"Thanks for coming again."

Then he pushed himself up and strolled back down the stage, signalling at the man who had called him over. They turned back and slowly made their way out of the hall.

\---

"Charming fellow, isn't he?" Hoseok said, after they'd left Broadway. They were standing in front of a sushi bar, studying the prices on the menu. "I told you you'd like them."

Yoongi shrugged, scrutinising the photos with the absorbed concentration of examining a flight information board.

"This place is kinda overpriced," Hoseok said after a while, pulling at his elbow. "Maybe we'll get better stuff at the Jade Quadrangle. I heard there's a coffeeshop there with egg-dipped bread and milk tea."

"Are they going to be on time?" Yoongi said, allowing himself to be led away. "Or are they the tardy sort?"

"I don't think so," Hoseok said, looking both ways before they crossed the street. They headed into another section of narrow alleyways and sagging awnings, bald electrical wiring and a diffuse green glow over everything. Small tables were set out with round rickety stools along the entrances of shopfronts, glass windows scrawled with menus and promotional items, huge neon bowls of noodles and carp fish and dragons.

Somewhere along the way, Hoseok stopped by a payphone and called Taehyung, the coins clinking in his hands and his skinny fingers stabbing quickly at the rusted buttons. They debated over a location before settling on a place called Omelas, which was somewhere nearby. Hoseok hung up and pushed the coins into his pocket as he looked around, trying to get his bearings.

"There," he finally said, pointing at an empty alley, and they set off.

Yoongi soon had to shield his eyes from the glare as they navigated their way further into the heart of the food district. They stopped in front of a miserable-looking strip building with dark windows and two doors. The huge sign was above, glowing pristinely in turquoise.

"This is the place?" Yoongi said, not trying to conceal the disbelief in his voice.

"Looks like a strip motel, I know," Hoseok quickly appended, "but the food is great. Don't worry. We've been here before."

They hung around outside until Taehyung came roving up in his sports car, a shiny red one. He parked it outside and got out, pushing his sunglasses up.

"Did you guys have fun?" he asked, grinning. "Was Broadway good?"

"Didn't stop for happy hour."

"Aw." He locked the car. "Are they coming?"

"They said they would. We'll go in and reserve seats first."

Inside, it was cozy. Buttery yellow walls and neat rows of lights. A laundromat right behind the entrance, with potted plants and a white table stacked with small baskets. There was a man watching his clothes spin around inside the machine. Another boy with blue hair sitting on a bench near the windows, popping apple slices into his mouth and reading a comic book.

The eating place was at the back, hidden behind fancy flowered curtains which Yoongi parted as he went through. It wasn't very crowded inside, just a couple of people seated here and there at the round white tables. The floor was checkered in white and yellow. It had the clean, homely feel of a cottage, save for the bubblegum-pop playing on the music system.

Someone was walking towards them, a girl with auburn hair tied in pigtails, bangs stopping just above her eyebrows. She was waving a clipboard.

"That's the owner's niece, Jiwoo," Hoseok said, turning around to grin at Yoongi. "She knows us." Taehyung raised his hand to greet her.

"You guys didn't ring up," she said in this light-hearted, teasing way. "Table for?"

"Five, please."

They were led to the back of the eatery. The smell of coffee was stronger here, someone at the back operating a machine which was buzzing loudly. The table was right next to the counter. There was a framed painting of mountains hanging above it.

Jiwoo had this real sugary exuberance when she spoke, and he saw it in the way that she talked to Hoseok, responding to his questions about people only they knew and finally, with some hesitation, asking if Yves was coming. She was still standing at their table after they'd all settled down, hugging the clipboard close to her chest.

"Of course," Hoseok said, returning her wide smile. "That's why we came."

He turned the menu over, then remembered something.

"How's auntie?"

"She’s fine," Jiwoo replied. "She got the checkup last week. Moved to the outpatient ward."

"How'd that go?"

"We're not sure." A shrug. "They think it's just a herniated disc but she thinks it feels like something else. You know how old folks are."

Taehyung was pouring iced water out of the pitcher into all of their glasses.

"I've got drinks on the house," Jiwoo said, leaning against the counter. "Whole batch of milk soda is going to expire tomorrow. We forgot about the six-carton pack in the store room. You alright with that?"

Taehyung nodded. "What's the special?"

"Mint julupes." She saw his reaction. "Oh, are you driving? There's no alcohol in them."

"Can I borrow the phone?" Hoseok said, after checking his watch. Jiwoo jabbed her thumb towards the backroom. He got up and walked there. They watched him go, Jiwoo placing the clipboard on the counter with a soft thump.

Then she was nodding politely at Yoongi. "A new friend?"

Yoongi looked over at Taehyung, who sat up from his slouch. "Yeah, old classmate. Came down from upstairs."

"Welcome," she said.

Yoongi managed a smile that he hoped looked friendly enough.

Hoseok came back at that moment, shoving his wallet into his pocket. "Yves is gonna be late," he said, looking at Jiwoo. "She's stuck in the last bid. Some prized unblemished sheep wool going for astronomical prices."

"Sheep wool," Yoongi said. "I've never seen it before."

"Neither have I." Hoseok sat down and picked the menu up again. "The whole black market for that exists down here, though."

"So," Jiwoo said, still standing there. "The usual?"

"The usual," Hoseok said, closing the menu. "And the milk soda in those fancy martini things."

The fancy martini things were tall green porcelain chalices with gold bases. She put five of them down, next to the milk soda cans. The ice cubes were round spherical things with coloured syrup swirls frozen inside them.

"This enough for you?"

"Yeah," Taehyung said. "Thank you."

Yoongi watched the condensation drip down the sides of the cans. Hoseok clunked his drink open and poured it out.

"Thought hyung would like these glasses," he said, looking at Yoongi with a half-smile. "It's not real gold, though."

They drank in silence for a while. Jiwoo was behind the till sorting out customer payments and setting out takeaway drinks in cup holders.

When Jimin finally came, Yoongi watched him quietly over the rim of his glass. He moved with the satisfaction and self-consciousness of a person used to being looked at - even in the way he walked up to them and tapped Hoseok on the shoulder, hanging back with that tiny smile, hand running through his neat hair. His presence had a magnetic effect on the room; a few people looked up or broke eye contact with whoever they were talking to just to glance at him.

"Hey," he said, sliding into a seat. Taehyung pushed a glass and a milk soda can towards him. "You guys ordered already?"

"Same thing," Hoseok said, taking another sip from his glass. "How long do you have?"

"Two hours, at least."

"Good," Hoseok said, rubbing his hands together. "'Cos we've got a lot on the agenda today."

"What could be so important?"

"Yoongi needs our help."

Jimin made eye contact with Yoongi for a split second, a ghost of a smile on his face, but none of them said anything.

"How was your show?" Taehyung asked from the other side of the table. He was slouched in the chair again, idly reading the menu. "Good turnout?"

Jimin took his drink straight from the can. He put it down and swallowed.

"Crowd was great."

Yoongi finally reached for his drink and popped the tab open.

"Ten more minutes," Hoseok was saying, checking his watch again. "I don't want to disappoint Jiwoo."

"She'll be here. Stop worrying."

"What's the deal with them?" Yoongi managed to say, when the table was quiet.

"Our dear Jiwoo adores her," Hoseok said, resting his head on his hand. "The two of them … birds of the same feather."

They waited. Jimin took off his silver rings and started lining them in neat rows on the table near his plate while Yoongi watched.

Yves arrived soon enough, looking like a fur trapper in designer gear with her hair partially braided and twined into thick cords. She sat down and stared around at all of them with an expectant look on her face.

"Where's the food?" She was carrying a rifle, which she leaned against the wall next to her. 

"We were waiting." Taehyung grinned. "Did you get that sheep wool?"

"Yeah." Then she saw Yoongi. "You must be Yoongi?"

He nodded. An awkward silence fell over the table. She took her fur-lined jacket off and busied herself with draping it neatly on the back of her chair.

Jiwoo came over later and started laying their plates of food down - neatly cut sandwiches, fish balls skewered on sticks, bowls of chawanmushi, all of it synthetic. She was saying something to Yves, although Yoongi couldn't hear it over the fuss made by the rest of them, who were shifting the dishes back and forth on the table.

When Jiwoo went back to the counter, Yves was smiling to herself as she picked up her sandwich. It was quiet again, just the sounds of chewing and the clink of utensils on plates.

"Hyung," Jimin suddenly said, looking at Hoseok. "We should start talking."

Hoseok wiped at his mouth. He looked around the table.

"Yeah, okay," he finally started, a little too loudly. "I mean, you guys still remember Yoongi, right?"

They were all looking around at each other.

"Secondary school. Piano-playing kid," Hoseok continued. "He came to me because he needed help."

"Halfaxa," Taehyung added. "Wanted to ask us about it."

"The student rebellion?" Jimin said, turning to Yoongi. "Why the sudden interest?"

"It's something related to my work."

"You're a researcher?"

"Not really."

"A teacher?"

"No."

"He's searching for someone," Hoseok said, reaching for his glass. He lowered his voice. "One of those skinjobs."

"Does he know what happened?" Yves said, looking at Hoseok.

"Yeah."

"Then that's the whole story, really," Yves said, shrugging as she bit into her skewered chicken. "It failed, simple as that. I guess - we kind of abandoned the idea after Namjoon was expelled."

The mention of that name forced them all into this deep, moody silence.

"Well, what do you remember, then?" Yoongi asked.

Yves poked at the steamed egg with a fork. She was silent for a moment.

"Where were you on that day itself?"

Yoongi stared at his untouched sandwich.

"I was in class too."

"At the back, right," Taehyung said. "You weren't the chatty sort. We never really fit in at the front."

That day had been a tense, dreary ordeal, the neckline of the thick blue uniform pressing into him, the lines of red algebraic equations appearing on the desk. They hadn't taken their mood regulation pills yet - these small red capsules meant to help with lethargy and a willingness to learn. A product of Wallace, taken over and adapted from the 2019-era Penfield mood organ.

The blackboard in front was running with continuous lines of code. Disciplinarians were positioned at the front of the classroom, two on either side, four in total. White plasterboard walls helmed them in with no sense of how much time had passed.

He remembered getting the compulsory learning implant in the back on his neck before enrolling. It had hurt like hell, but they had to endure it if they wanted to get into a local school. These synaptic electrode implants were small pieces of metal surgically inserted into the neck.

The first day of school included a primer on properly using neurocables. They were simple wire cords, allowed neuron impulses to pass through them and enabled direct brain-to-computer connection. The teacher was not there for any purpose other than to facilitate this mode of learning. Their teacher was an expressionless man with red monitoring lenses before his eyes. He had a pointer which he used to get students to shut up by slapping it down on their tables.

Yoongi couldn't remember who was seated to his left or right, but he'd seen a few students acting differently during the direct connection that day, purposely delaying the plug-in, making excuses to go to the washroom. Namjoon was right in front. That he could remember.

People were talking, and suddenly he could sense the tension in the air - so thick he could reach out and cut into it - the moment of calm just before disaster. The pills were distributed to the students, one placed in front of each person. They were supposed to take it dry, down the hatch just like that. 

It had happened too quickly for him to really understand.

"We were going to take our Penfield pills."

"Yeah," Hoseok nodded. "Some pretty hard pills to swallow if you didn't buy into the Mercerism bullshit. What else?"

"Namjoon got up first," Yoongi continued, not looking at any of them. "A few of you stood up. I think a girl knocked over her chair."

"That girl was me," Yves said. "I was told to do that. It was the cue for the rest of the class to stand up."

Hoseok looked like he was going to laugh. "That was the first time I'd seen the teacher lose control of the class. He didn't know what to do."

"The discipline masters had clubs and everything, and we still thought we could win," Taehyung shook his head, pushing the last of his chicken around the plate. "Did we even plan it? I can't remember."

"Namjoon had the plan," Jimin corrected. "He only wanted to share it with a few of us. And he didn't dare to give anyone written instructions. Too risky."

Yoongi looked up. "But not everyone knew about it, right?"

"You didn't. There were a few others. We didn't see the point in forcing people into this."

"Does anyone even remember what we were supposed to do if the whole thing succeeded at all?" Hoseok asked.

"Write a letter, maybe." Yves sank back into her chair. "Namjoon was always all for that proud show-off intellectual business."

"He didn't tell you?"

Jimin and Taehyung shook their heads.

"Okay, hang on," Yoongi put his fork down. "What - was the point of this entire thing?"

"The point of this entire thing," Yves said with some weariness to her voice, "was, in simple terms, to get everyone to disconnect from the Hivemind."

"That's it?"

"That's it." She nodded. They were all looking at her. Then Jimin turned to Yoongi.

"Namjoon figured out that there was a risk in doing that," he explained, toying with his rings on the table. "In connecting directly to the system. He got a few of us on the plan one afternoon. We were stuck in Mandarin remedial lessons, and nobody knew each other. Before the teacher came into the classroom, he gave us all these pieces of paper."

"The thing that looked like an advert?" Taehyung said, sitting up. "I remember. It was so unnecessary."

"The font was too big," Hoseok added, laughing. "Namjoon did it on the school computer with that crappy design program."

"The best part of it was the message," Jimin said, with a fond smile. "It sounded so typical of him. Of course we didn't know at the time, but looking back ..."

Taehyung folded his arms, an amused look on his face. "What did it say, does anyone remember?"

"He wrote it like a song," Hoseok said, clearly relishing being the only one who could recall. "There were stanzas and shit. He talked about some anarchist crap for three verses and ended with a call to arms."

"A call to arms," Yves clapped her hands, laughing. "Yes, yes. I remember that."

"So we agreed to entertain him, just for a while." Jimin shook his head. "And he was so serious about it too. You'd have thought he was handing us our death sentences."

"I thought about it that night," Hoseok said. "What he said about mind control. I couldn't sleep after that."

Taehyung nodded. "You could say that it worked."

"So that's how you guys came together."

"Yeah. Halfaxa.” Yves said. “We voted on the name. I still think it's terrible. Sounds like it's trying to be too edgy."

"How many of you?"

"Just the five of us at first. We had people who drifted in and out from other classes, but no one really dedicated came by. Namjoon was doing most of the heavy-lifting himself. He organised our stakeouts. We went to computer labs and tried different settings on the intra network. We dismantled neurocables. Eventually it wasn't enough, and he wanted to change things up a bit."

Jimin stopped to take a drink. The rest were eating in silence, content to let him do most of the talking.

"So one day Namjoon said, why don't we try a small demonstration?" At this, Hoseok snickered. Jimin looked in his direction and grinned. "Yeah, look where _that_ landed us. Namjoon wanted change, he wasn't content with just sitting around and doing research and ending up with nothing but more conspiracy theories about what sorts of things they were putting into our heads. All that stuff about remote control. Mutating computer viruses."

"The Trojan horse," Hoseok piped up.

"He had all the information he needed, now he just wanted to put it out somewhere. And guess where he put it."

Yoongi held his steady gaze. "The students."

"That's right. And it was a bad idea, but we didn't know it then."

"He wired out flyers after school. And people kind of knew about the existence of our little club, because, well, we were campaigning all over campus and hanging out in computer labs. They saw us and talked to us. Namjoon was big on trying to recruit more supporters."

"People still thought we were mad," Yves said. “But it was more like a - wow, you guys are crazy fucking geniuses and this may not work but hey, I’m in.”

"Yeah. It was a little embarrassing at first. But his plan worked, through using the neurocables to go against the very system that invented it." Jimin folded his arms on the table. "Most people were sold on the idea.”

"The whole block was going to do it at the same time," Hoseok pointed out. "Across all levels. They kept it so secret that nobody would have seen it coming."

Taehyung let out a heavy sigh, tapping the tines of his fork idly against the plate.

"You're right when you say that no one saw it coming, though," Jimin said, turning his empty soda can around. "They just knew how to deal with it. Whatever we did, whatever we prepared, it wasn't enough.

“Four armed and trained discipline masters in each room," Yves added slowly, gesturing. "Twenty students in a class, with only tables and chairs as weapons."

"Why was it only him, then?" Yoongi asked. "How did they realise he plotted it?"

"The digital trail," Hoseok said. "People in the school stuck around only when there was a plan brewing. When it failed, all those suckers shrunk back. They blamed it on him. Said that he hacked into the school system and wired them things against their will. The digital trail was all there. He couldn't say no."

“More like he mind-controlled them,” Yves added, twirling a skewer stick back and forth between her fingers. “Put all those ideas into their heads through the Hivemind.”

"Something like that." Hoseok put his glass down and smacked his lips. "The teachers knew Namjoon had the brains to do something like that. They believed it."

"And what about the rest of you?"

"We were let off with permanent detention." Hoseok had this hurt expression on his face. "Barred from the computer labs. And we weren't allowed to use the neurocables outside of school."

In the silence that followed, Yoongi contemplated the last of his food in the silence that followed. A round piece of fish cake was left floating at the bottom of the bowl.

Slowly, he looked around at their preoccupied expressions.

"How did he take it?"

Jimin shrugged, examining one of his rings. "He packed up and left. Didn't say anything to us. I don't know who was more disappointed - us, or him."

"The rest of you kept in contact after that?"

"We didn't meet anymore, but we still kind of knew where everyone was." Jimin stared at the table. "After graduation we went our separate ways. But fate has a funny way of intervening." He looked directly at Yoongi and smiled. "I still had Taehyung's number. Called him one day, just for fun. We'd gotten pretty close in school. Didn't expect him to pick up, but he did."

"We met after that in this same spot," Taehyung rapped on the table with his knuckles. "Three years ago."

"Has it been three years?" Jimin said, pushing his fringe back. "Ah, time passes so quickly."

"I met Hoseok when I was buying my second car," Taehyung said. "He was at the same dealer, and we just happened to be checking out the same thing. I couldn't believe it was him at first. He was still wearing that shabby polo from the cab company."

"Before I went freelance," Hoseok appended. "It's a hell lot better."

"Yeah. We talked, and said that maybe we should do something like a meet-up, or whatever. It wasn't too hard after that. A lot of people knew Yves. You couldn't live in the substation for years and not know about the electric animal trade. She's the beast in that field, literally and metaphorically. You wouldn’t expect anything less from someone who comes from a family line of hunters."

Yves waved the comment away. "I started out small too, you know."

"I know, but look at how many specimens you've collected from the off-world colonies. All the rare breeds." Taehyung shifted in his seat. "Did you bring Popchik?"

"No. He's at home."

"Popchik's her hunting dog," Jimin told Yoongi. "Thirty-six different breeds crammed into one animal. I don't know how much she paid or who she had to kill to get the job done."

"Do all of you live down here?"

"Me and Taehyung," Jimin pointed with his thumb. "Hoseok rented an apartment up there but it got too cold at night, so sometimes he crashes at Taehyung's garage after doing the late shift." He looked at Yves. "She's ... always moving."

"Yeah, where are you now?" Hoseok asked her, this teasing lilt to his voice. "Wanna give us the coordinates?"

She let out a sharp, amused sound.

"Don't be ridiculous. Ask Jiwoo, she’s been over."

"You got a house?" Taehyung said, like he couldn't believe it.

"Yeah. Figured I needed to a place to properly hang up all those animoid pelts. My rifle collection was growing too." She smiled absently. "Popchik's getting lazier. I think I feed him too much."

"Any chance we can visit?"

"Sure," she said. "Come over any time, if you can find it."

"I'll find it," Hoseok said. "You've just been so busy." He looked at the rest of them. "We've all been so busy. I mean, we haven't sat down together like this for a few months."

"It's good," Jimin agreed. "Feels nice. Just what I need. I always get hungry after intense shows."

They moved on to talking about mundane things, the new businesses opening on the street and some fatal incident which appeared in the headlines a few weeks ago. Yoongi was finishing off his drink in silence, turning over all the new information in his head.

Jiwoo came by the table later and cleared their empty plates, suddenly looking at Yoongi with this strange curiosity, like she wanted to say something.

Later, when she came back a second time, she tried to smile at him again.

“I’ve heard about them, you know.”

Yoongi gave her a polite questioning look.

“Those skinjobs.”

He didn’t say anything.

Hoseok chuckled. “You can’t say it too loud here, Jiwoo-ah,” he said. “People might get ideas.”

But she wasn’t smiling anymore.

“They’re here,” she said. “I don't know where, but they’re walking around down in the streets.”

“You’ve seen them?”

“No, but I’ve heard things. Like, they’re spreading some kind of ideology underground. Maybe a new religion for fake humans.”

They all kept quiet.

“Aren’t they outlawed?” Taehyung eventually asked, keeping his voice low.

“You shouldn’t be seeing them down here,” Yoongi said quietly. “They’re only allowed up in the city where they can be tracked.”

Jimin rested his elbow on the edge of the table, leaning closer. “So what does Halfaxa have to do with this?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“And you’re supposed to stop them?”

“Like Hoseok said, it’s a manhunt. They’re not supposed to be down here.”

Jiwoo was leaning closer to the table. “What kind of work do you do, exactly?”

“He’s one of those bounty hunters,” Hoseok said, his voice a half-whisper.

Yoongi didn’t dare to look up at any of them. He kept his eyes on his hands, which were folded on the table in front of him.

Jiwoo twirled one of her pigtails distractedly in her hand. “So what are you going to do when you find them?”

“Bring them to prison and get his money,” Taehyung said with a small laugh. “What else do you think he would do?”

Yoongi left it at that.

“If you need to find people,” Jiwoo said, lightly putting a hand on Yves’s shoulder, “Yves here can help.”

There were murmurs of agreement. Yoongi snuck a glance at Yves. She blinked a little at the suggestion, but didn’t object to it.

\---

Later, he came to understand what they’d been talking about, when they tried to explain why Chuu was so taken in by Yves. She had parked her vespa outside the eatery, this glossy red affair with clean tyres and expensive-looking upholstery on the seats. The jacket and jodhpurs she had were worn-down, but made of real wool and leather, and it gave her an aura of regality. That calm alertness she exuded had this rough-and-tumble elegance to it.

She stood at the sidewalk and placidly stared down the street for a few moments before heading back to her bike. Yoongi watched her fiddle with something in the storage compartment before walking over, trying to look as casual as possible.

“What kinds of animals do you hunt for?” Yoongi said, still looking at the rifle hanging off her back.

Yves was quietly packing her things, but she glanced up at him.

“All sorts. I specialise in animoids and the electric variety.”

“I’ve always wanted an electric sheep,” he said after a long pause. “Can’t afford it, though.”

“Those are hard to find,” she replied, not looking at him. “Especially ones in the wild.”

He realised that she was storing the sheep pelt. It had been folded in several layers of cloth and tissue paper with loose ends which she had to press down and tie up.

“So,” he began, observing her work. “Would you be interested?”

She stopped, met his eye again.

“I’d just like to understand what it’s all about, first.”

Someone laughed loudly right then, and they both turned around. Hoseok was still talking to Jiwoo near the entrance, saying something about her penguin collection.

“You guys should see it,” he said, loud enough for Yoongi to hear. “Floor-to-ceiling glass cabinet. Toy penguins, ceramic penguins, stuffed penguins.”

Jimin added something which made them all laugh again. Then he was waving goodbye. Taehyung had offered to fetch him back. They watched the car disappear.

Yves locked the storage compartment of her bike, then gave Yoongi a polite smile.

“Are you going to tell me about it?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but Jiwoo was coming over with a paper box in her hand. She stopped near them, holding it out cheerfully.

“Oh, what’s this?” Yves asked, taking it.

“Strawberry rice cakes,” Jiwoo said, in earnest. “Auntie’s recipe. I think you’ll like them.” She had another box for Yoongi, which she gave to him with twinkly-eyed eagerness.

Yves leaned over to whisper something in Jiwoo’s ear, patting her arm, and then they were smiling at each other with such serene fondness that Yoongi had to look away.

Jiwoo went back in, and the sidewalk grew quiet again. Hoseok was leaning against the wall of the eatery under the green sign, chewing on one of his rice cakes. Yves and Yoongi walked over and stood on either side of him, watching the cars rumble past on the narrow lane.

“Still hungry, huh,” Yves said after a while, looking at Hoseok. He shrugged and put another piece into his mouth.

“I told Hoseok that I was hunting replicants,” Yoongi abruptly began, not looking at either of them. “I need the money, that’s why I had to do it.”

There was a long silence.

“Who are you working for?”

“A private organisation,” Yoongi said. “Working for the police, but we always get stuck in all that red-tape.”

“Then,” Yves said, “do you have any leads?”

“I have descriptions. Photographs.” Yoongi paused. “Last known locations.”

“Better than I expected,” she said briskly. “I can work with that.”

“You still don’t know what caused them to escape, do you?” Hoseok closed the lid of the paper box. “Aren’t they all bound to some training contract before they’re allowed to leave?”

Yoongi was silent for a long time before replying.

“I suspect someone’s trying to revive Halfaxa elsewhere.”

“Where?”

“The replicant training facilities. The idea got out, somehow. Either that or a former schoolmate is continuing operations inside.”

“Former schoolmate …” Hoseok echoed slowly. “I didn’t think of that.”

“If you put it that way,” Yves said, “it could be anyone. I wouldn’t know how many of the students still retained the information after the incident.”

“I have some idea of where two of the targets are,” Yoongi said. “But we only have one shot at it. We don’t want them to know that they’re being chased. It becomes harder to find them that way.”

“Where are they?”

“One owns a kind of farm in the hinterlands. I don’t have the exact address, but I have a photo of a traditional zinc-roof farmhouse with a number that might help. Another one was last seen down here, but she seems to move around a lot. That’s going to be trickier.”

“But Jiwoo said -”

“There are more than I’ve been told,” Yoongi said. “That’s why I think - maybe - it would be good to ask people who know this place better than I do.”

Yves nodded, idly running one finger through her hair.

“The ones I’m going after are all untracked, either illegal entry or removed their trackers to evade movement monitoring.”

“How long have they been here?”

“If they’re good, they can stay undercover for a few years.”

“What about the one you said was in the subway station?” Hoseok said, scratching at his cheek.

“That,” Yoongi sighed. “That’s a different problem altogether. That one’s more dangerous. I still don’t have a clue where it is.”

They were silent.

“It was a cover-up. People were killed.”

Yves frowned. “I’ve never heard of replicants killing people.”

“Now you have. We don’t know why they did it.”

“But it’s not that easy,” she pointed out. “There are scanners in the stations. Someone would have found out who they were by now.”

“I don’t think she worked alone.”

“How much are you getting paid for all this?”

“I didn’t get the quote for one, but -” Yoongi hesitated, “fifty thousand units, if I retire all of them.”

Hoseok let out a low whistle.

“You know, this doesn’t sound too bad.” Yves said. “You wanna go over now?”

“Now?” Hoseok said. “You haven’t even figured out where they are.”

“We can catch the one on the farm.” She pulled her at her coat. “I think I know which colony you’re talking about.”

“Just one thing,” Yoongi said, his voice unsure. “I can’t share the bounty money.”

“I don’t need the money,” Yves said after a while. “You need it more than I do.”

“So you still want to help.”

“I can find business anywhere.” She was looking out at the road, green reflecting on her face. “I need to cover more ground. My livelihood depends largely on travelling everywhere.”

“You know the place well?”

“The hinterlands?” She was already walking over to the bike. “Like the back of my hand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [namesake](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iwzfR7-33Wc)  
> also yes it's [hunter yves](https://i0.wp.com/66.media.tumblr.com/ea764d6baf5ab234eb47e99632f9006c/8af0699bc07d5840-ce/s540x810/625f0dcabd26d80fdcd4053b9656f62f76989de3.gif?w=817&ssl=1)


	5. they stay down deep

They were in the courtyard of Yoongi’s apartment, where the air was thick with an after-rain smell. Puddles on the floor below their feet, the mud from planters seeping out into cracked tiles. The lines of washing were hanging high above their heads.

Yoongi had the photos with him. Jungkook was standing behind him, peering over his shoulder.

“You got any names?” Yves said, standing with her arms folded. “Do they even have names?”

“This one,” Yoongi said, holding the ID photo copy out to her. “Citadel. Combat model, but effectively terminated from service.”

She took it and scrutinised the photo. A middle-aged man, bald, with round glasses. Yoongi showed her the two photos of the farmhouse – one with the enlarged number plate and the photocopy of the original. She took one look at the number plate and laughed.

“Colony 125. Guess I was right,” she said, grinning. “That’s the only place out there that still does traditional farming. He picked the right spot to blend in.”

“He has a business.”

“Whatever happened to him?”

“Got sick of everything, I guess.”

“No.” Yves handed the photographs back to Yoongi. “The left eye. That’s no normal human eye.”

“You think it’s a transplant?”

She shook her head. “Looks more like a tracking implant to me.”

They drove straight there. Out of the suburbs, where the grass was dead and brown, into barren hills and a muted grey sky. A two-laned road had been cut into the hills.

“There’s something I didn’t tell you earlier,” Yoongi said. His voice became quieter. “We’re supposed to kill them.”

“I knew that.”

He steered the car around a hairpin turn. Yves turned slightly in the passenger seat and looked at Jungkook, then at him.

“Wanna introduce us?”

Yoongi forced his eyes away from the road. She was tilting her head slightly towards the back of the car.

“That’s Jungkook,” Yoongi said, looking to the front. “He’s just helping."

“Your getaway driver?”

Yoongi met Jungkook’s eyes in the rear-view mirror.

“Yeah.”

Yves leaned against the car door. Her rifle had been placed on the seats behind, next to Jungkook. He sat as far away from it as possible.

The car rattled on. They were silent.

“How’d you learn about this business?” Yves asked. She held a thick braid of her hair up to the weak light, examining it.

Yoongi drove on for a while without replying. The road was getting rougher, tarmac blending out into a dirt track.

“They found me.”

She glanced at him. “You must be special, then.”

“No. I’m actually just covering for someone.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “A few years.”

She pushed herself up on the seat and leaned forward, pointing.

“Turn left in front.”

A long, winding route through bumpy gravel. The air was thick with dust and fog, hazy outlines of small structures in front and along the sides of the road. Eventually the fields of lalang and dirt stopped and there was a wide, open space of dead, flattened rock.

Yoongi slowed down. The headlights were useless in the dust. They stayed in the car for a few seconds, looking out of the windows.

“Probably a storm,” Yves said. “I can see the farm in front.”

Yoongi moved them forward, until she told him to stop. Large white greenhouses with arched roofs loomed in the distance, white plastic tarpaulins stretched over the metal structures. The dust was beginning to clear.

“I can send the drone up,” he said.

He got out of the car and walked around to the back. Even with all the dust in the air, it was cold. Pilotfish was in the boot. He powered it up and set it on the ground behind the car, then went to the front and leaned over the driver’s seat, reaching for the screen on the dashboard.

They waited for a while. The four-armed object rose into the air and disappeared into the fog.

In the car, the screen beeped.

“The field is huge,” Yves remarked. “I’ll bet the house is there.” She pointed at a fuzzy blob in the corner, still rendering into focus. “He’s got a nice place. Very neat.”

“Wait,” Yoongi murmured.

Jungkook was watching through the gap between the two front seats, pressing a hand on each headrest.

Yves traced her finger along a structure of pipes arranged in a grid under the ground.

“Irrigation system …” she trailed off. “That kind of looks like a water tank.”

“We have all the time to check out the system later,” Yoongi said, stepping back out. “I’m not going to keep waiting.”

The three of them made their way to the greenhouses. There was a large windmill at the back, blurred in the distance.

“I wonder if he’s in,” Jungkook said.

“He doesn’t have anywhere else to go.” Yoongi started walking faster.

“Does he live alone?”

“I don’t know.”

They walked through the empty alleys between each greenhouse. The farmhouse was ahead, a plain-looking establishment with a soot-black roof, a round yellow water tank attached to the side.

It was unlocked. The door moved open easily. Yoongi went in first.

A small window at the other side of the small backroom let some light in. Right below the window, the shiny outline of a metal sink. He could hear water bubbling somewhere in the darkness.

Yves stayed near the door.

“I don’t like the smell of this place,” she whispered.

“He’s got real plants,” Jungkook said, bending over to look at a row of pots on the ground. They were arranged under a thin desk lamp.

Yoongi came over to see what he was looking at. He reached out and pulled the chain on the lamp. A soft purple glow came out of it.

“Vegetables,” he said, and turned it off.

“Is it garlic?” Yves went in with them to the kitchen, her boots making no sound on the wood. “Do you guys smell that?”

Yoongi was looking into a pot, the source of the sound. The water inside was black and boiling away with leaves.

“He’s cooking something.”

The squeak of the front door hinge made them stiffen where they were. Yves slowly pulled the rifle off her back. Yoongi placed the lid down quietly and turned around.

“Wait here,” he whispered. He went out of the kitchen.

Someone came in. A bull of a man, Citadel had the rugged gait of an experienced hiker and had to stoop to get through the door frame. He didn’t seem to notice Yoongi. He stopped at the entrance to shake dirt off his boots and hung up a pair of wet gloves on hooks.

Then he looked up and saw Yoongi’s silhouette outlined against the light coming from the kitchen window behind. He stopped where he was, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

“Goddamn,” he finally muttered in a gravelly voice. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Mr Citadel,” Yoongi began, moving forward slowly. “Citizen number CT2041.”

“Whaddya want?”

“Just checking in on you.”

The bubbling of the pot filled the silence.

“You from the cops?” He jerked his head towards the door. “Saw your cute car outside.”

“I borrowed it.”

Citadel kept his distance. His boots were wet and tracked shiny prints across the wood.

“I have a farming license.”

“I know that.” Yoongi stopped near a small table, piled with more planters. “Anything else you want to tell me?”

Citadel was watching him. For a big man, he wasn’t very forthcoming on the action front.

“I’m a citizen. You wouldn’t hurt a citizen, would you?”

Yoongi shook his head. Citadel grinned, showing teeth. His glasses were too small for his head.

“I got worms here.” He lifted a hand up. In the darkness, Yoongi could see the squirming wet shapes in his bare hands. “Different strain. Eat up dirt like a herd of cows mowing through spring meadow grass.”

“That’s what you farm?”

“Things need a shitload of water,” he went on, not hearing the question. “Colony still uses these old irrigation things from the river. Lemme show you a barometer.”

He moved, and Yoongi tensed up, but he was just walking to a small cabinet at the side of the room. Behind the door, the vague shapes of glass bottles and evil-looking things inside them. Another purple bar of light fixed to the ceiling, open terrariums of pea shoots.

The barometer was hanging on the door. He looked at it proudly.

“Oldest of its kind. Vintage piece.”

“You talk with the villagers often?”

Citadel shrugged, a heave of his shoulders. He was poking around inside the cabinet, touching leaves and moving gardening tools.

“We don’t like each other.”

“That’s a pity.”

Finally, he closed the door with a huff. He turned around, putting something hard on the counter underneath the cabinet, but Yoongi couldn’t see what it was. He turned around, obstructing it with his frame.

“You gonna move along, copper? Or are you going to stand there yapping all day?”

“I’m not here to talk,” Yoongi said. “Actually, there’s an easier way out of this.”

“Which is?”

“You know it’s going to come sooner or later.” Yoongi shifted one hand to his holster. Citadel’s eyes followed the movement. “Are you going to cooperate?”

“Sure.”

“Then move aside.”

“What?”

“Step aside.” Yoongi gestured. “What’s that thing behind you?”

“I’m cooking.”

“You’re done with cooking.” Yoongi turned his head towards the kitchen. “I saw the stove.”

“I don’t like what you’re doing here.”

“You don’t have to like it.” Yoongi paused. “Just - listen to me.”

He took the scanner from his pocket, a device shaped like a penlight, and held it up for Citadel to see clearly.

“This is what I’ll use to scan your bad eye. Once I get the data, I’ll leave and never come back again. You can keep your life.”

Citadel hung back. Both his hands were pressed behind his back. “I don’t know whether I should trust you or not.”

“Your loss, then.”

“You got anyone else with you?” Citadel said. “I saw three pairs of footprints outside, not one.”

When Yoongi didn’t respond, he lunged forward. The meat cleaver in his hand was a glint in the dank light. Yoongi ducked, and the blade sank into the edge of the table.

“Come to think of it, I do,” Yoongi said, breathing faster now. He fired into the floor of the farmhouse to test the recoil, a short laser blast leaving a small splinter of dust and wood in the smoking hole that it created.

Citadel yanked the cleaver out, a sickly splintering sound of wood cracking. He rounded the table and came for him again.

“The more the merrier, isn’t it?” he said, before bashing down into more metal. He’d cornered Yoongi into one of his empty shelves. A hammy fist came towards Yoongi’s head. He ducked down, but not fast enough to escape the hard knock to his temple.

Head spinning, Yoongi tried to get up before the second blow came, but it never came. He looked up. Jungkook had surged forward, caught Citadel’s wrist and forced it away. He pushed all his weight against the guy to shove him back against the wall with such force that Yoongi winced.

Citadel lifted his other arm, going for the side of Jungkook’s face. Jungkook pinned that arm down to block the punch, but his whole body shuddered with the effort. Citadel was staring intensely into his face.

“What's the model?” he said, voice tight. “Ought to be fuckin’ ashamed of yourself, boy.”

Jungkook’s grip weakened for that split second, but it was enough. Citadel’s features darkened.

He wrenched one of his arms free and grabbed at Jungkook’s neck, the hand large enough to sink a thick thumb down into the windpipe. Jungkook let go, gasping, and Citadel’s other hand just managed to bring the cleaver blade down on his cheek before Jungkook pried the grip away from his neck and stumbled back, bringing a finger to where he’d been cut.

He stared at the blood, a little dazed. Yoongi got up and back-heeled Citadel’s knee before he could turn around. Citadel’s frame stumbled and crashed into the shelving, sending various small objects on it tumbling to the floor.

Yoongi bounded up and shot him once in the knee, though not enough to take him down. 

Citadel grabbed his leg, but tried to pull himself to an upright position.

“I don’t want to kill you if I can help it,” Yoongi said, raising the blaster again. His vision was blurring, and he realised he was tearing from the pain. That fist had to be made of metal. “There is … an alternative.”

He heard two loud popping sounds. Yves was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, rifle raised to eye level.

Citadel clutched his arm and staggered back against the wall. She lowered the rifle and went over.

“I don’t normally shoot to kill,” she said, sounding breathless. “Those are tranquilisers.”

Now the throbbing pain was coming in from the left side. Yoongi felt lightheaded, trying to focus on what they were saying, where he was standing in the room.

“They don’t work on me,” Citadel muttered. “I’m not a pansy. And you got me in the wrong arm.”

He raised the meat cleaver, going for her. She took her rifle and swung it at his face like a baseball bat, sent him off-balance with the force of the hit.

He recovered fast and moved again, but Yves had already taken a few steps back to a corner of the room. From there, she aimed another shot, this time going for his neck. A huge red splatter bloomed on the wall behind him. The effect was uncanny, like watching a large robot go into shutdown mode. Citadel struggled to stand straight and stopped moving.

“Killing one of your kind -” he continued in a wheezing voice, the meat cleaver shaking in his hand. He fell to his knees, slumped back on his haunches and continued to bleed out.

Yves walked up to him, still holding the rifle out.

“Sorry. I’m not one of your kind.”

He slowly lifted his head.

“You guys don’t know anything,” he said, wincing with the intense pain. “You guys don’t know a damn thing.”

“That’s enough,” Yoongi finally breathed out. He aimed at Citadel’s head and fired. Yves stepped back as the body fell forward, head landing at Jungkook’s feet.

Yoongi strode up and squatted down, rolling the body over. He took the glasses off and brought his scanner to the left eye.

“It’s a tracking implant,” he said, holding the lids open with his index and middle finger. The mechanical iris had a serial number on it. “Typical upgrade.”

His scanner registered the number. Yoongi let go and stood up slowly, felt the blood rush back to his head in one swoop, momentarily blacking out his vision.

“Your head’s going to bruise,” Yves said, looking in his direction.

“It doesn’t matter.” He tucked the scanner into his crossbody pack. “We need to check the rest of the farm.”

Then he turned and saw Jungkook standing behind them, staring at the body.

“He’ll be alright,” Yoongi said, but his voice didn’t have the confidence he wanted it to have. “Let’s go.”

Jungkook followed them out in silence.

“I don’t feel well,” he said. “Can I go back to the car?”

Yoongi stopped and turned to face him. The cut on his cheek was bleeding slightly.

“It hurts,” Jungkook said.

It couldn’t have, but Yoongi agreed to follow him back.

“I’ll go ahead,” Yves said quickly, already walking away. “If I find something, I’ll let you know.”

Jungkook sat in the passenger seat, under the shadow of the open car door. Pilotfish was hovering in the air above the car.

Yoongi observed it for a few seconds, then reached over for the dashboard and keyed in commands for aerial photography. It set off in another direction, back towards the farmhouse.

He got the kit from the back and opened it on Jungkook’s lap. Then he got a cotton ball and saline solution, breaking the plastic cap off the bottle.

“Are you sure it hurts?” he asked, softer this time. He soaked the cotton ball.

Jungkook didn’t say anything, keeping his eyes shut. He looked like he was sleeping.

Yoongi cleaned the wound.

“What were you going to do instead?” Jungkook asked after a while, opening his eyes.

Silence.

“Were you going to do it all along?”

Yoongi stopped cleaning and rummaged in the first aid kit to get a new swab.

“Letting him live was easier,” he said nonchalantly. “But I guess I don’t get that option.”

Jungkook watched him. “What will you do with the body?”

“The police will come over to clean him up in a few days.”

“And he’ll be buried?”

“No.” Yoongi dabbed at the wound. He paused to survey Jungkook’s face, passing a glance at his eyes. “They’ll probably just bin it.”

He left Jungkook in the car and walked back to the farm, hands in his pockets. Yves had left one of the doors open. He went in.

The greenhouses were built over large pools of blueish water, each the size of a tennis court. The oxygenators were still running inside, a faint gurgling sound that hummed through the large, airy space.

Yves was at the far end, bending over something in the pool.

Yoongi grabbed a shovel by the entrance and walked to the edge of the pool. He poked it in and dug, heaving up a mixture of silt and writhing brown leech-like worms, viscous water dripping off the sides.

He stared at it for a few seconds, then dropped the whole pile back in and walked over to where Yves was, dragging the shovel behind him.

“See anything interesting?”

She looked up and saw him, then her eyes went to the shovel in his hand.

“Looks like some kind of protein farm,” she said, pointing to a few worms she’d left squirming on the dry ground by her feet.

“Is that a genetically modified leech?”

“More than that.” She rubbed under her nose. “It’s that, and … something else.”

“Protein farmer,” Yoongi said. “He was a biologist. Class A.”

Yves didn’t seem to hear him. She was already walking further along the length of the pool.

“How’s Jungkook?” she asked. Her voice echoed strangely in the dry air.

“He’s fine.” Yoongi looked around. “Makes me wonder what kind of business Citadel did here.”

Yves was examining the water tank.

“Fertiliser, in all likelihood.” She tinkered with the valves. “Hey, this thing’s on high pressure.”

Yoongi stood by the side of the pool, taking in the silence. Here, it suddenly had the eerie, stagnant quality of an abandoned town prison.

Yves came back, dusting her hands. “I don’t mind taking back a few samples.” She had a clear plastic container with a few worms and silt clumps inside.

“What?” She saw his expression. “They won’t be able to tell. I didn’t take a lot.” She screwed the lid on. “Seen enough?”

“I’m photographing the site.” Yoongi checked his watch. “That’s going to take a while.”

“Is it like this for every skinner you kill?”

“We do it for larger sites.”

They walked out of the greenhouse and back to the car.

“So you’ve got one down,” she said, sounding satisfied. “Now what?”

“Number two,” Yoongi said. “You saw the photos.”

“Do you want me to come along?”

He trudged forward without looking at her. “Do you?”

“I don’t mind.”

She saw Jungkook sleeping in the passenger seat and got in at the back instead.

“Your assistant doesn’t speak much, does he?” she remarked, tucking the plastic container under her seat. “Is he new?”

Yoongi pretended not to hear. He was standing outside, watching the sky for signs of Pilotfish.

“There’s something on the screen,” Yves said loudly, leaning forward. “Look.”

Yoongi went back and slid halfway into the driver’s seat. They watched the aerial map form in segments. Dimensions were superimposed over the structures. Yoongi followed the movements, from the farmhouse to the water tank, moving out to the greenhouses, then finally the cultivation chamber in front and a bald tree in the yard.

But there was something odd about the tree. He reached out and pinched at the screen surface to zoom in.

“What’s that?” Yves said, watching.

“The tree -” Yoongi looked up and pointed out of the car. She looked in that direction. Yoongi turned back to the screen. “There’s … something under it.”

He touched the screen. Under the roots of the tree, a yellow cube-shaped object was buried in the ground.

“Are you sure? It could just be a fertilizer box.”

“He wouldn’t bury those in a box.” Yoongi was looking out at the actual tree again. “I remember him saying something about dirt and water.”

She was already getting out of the car. “Do you want to dig it up?”

Yoongi pushed himself off the seat and followed her.

They got shovels from the greenhouse and excavated a crate, wrapped in yellow cloth. Yoongi carried it back to the car, placing it on the ground just behind.

“The hell are we going to do with it?” Yves said.

“Open it,” Yoongi said. “Find someone to check it for me before I bring everything back to the office.”

Yves watched Pilotfish lower itself to the ground. Yoongi went to the driver’s seat and sat down heavily, wiping at his face. After composing himself, he radioed the office.

Mr Yeung’s face appeared on the vidscreen. It was fuzzy with poor reception, but enough for Yoongi to see his expressions.

“Mr Yeung.”

“So?”

“I’ve wired the things over to you,” Yoongi said, pressing buttons on the screen. “You’ll see the layout of the farm. Everything was left operational. I got the target in the farmhouse.”

Silence on the other end as Mr Yeung examined the information.

“You’ve got another three more, Yoongi.”

“I’m trying my best.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” A pause. “Still, good work.”

“What about the bonus?”

“What about it?”

“Will it be affected?”

“Depends on how much time you take. We’ve got other people running for smaller groups of them. Less dangerous, though. You got a heavy weight on your shoulders, taking all the big guys on your own.”

“I didn’t ask for it.”

“You’re going to blame Seokjin now?”

Yoongi kept quiet.

“Things happen, don’t they?” Mr Yeung leaned back. “Thanks for the info anyway. You’d better get out of there before the next storm hits.”

“It already came before us.”

“Well, there’s another one coming.” Mr Yeung laughed at his own joke, then sobered up and moved closer to the screen. “I’m serious. You don’t want to be caught. Get out of there now.”

\---

He hightailed it out of Colony 125 and got back on the road again. In the backseat, Yves had drawn the window down on her side, the dust-filled wind whipping at her hair.

“What’s the deal with your rifle?” Yoongi said.

She looked at him quizzically. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“You said you don’t kill with it.”

“I don’t usually kill with it.” She was staring out of the window. “Most of the time I fire blanks, but that’s to round up the animals. Popchik does it if I have too many. But if none of that works, I’ll use tranquilisers.”

She stopped talking, noticing something outside. Yoongi checked his side mirror. He saw a little brick house, retreating into the distance behind them.

“Did you see that?” she said.

“Yes.”

“Probably hasn’t been touched in years. Not even since the blackout.”

They reached a wide stretch of road passing by rows of wilting barley fields, where the car settled to cruising speed. The grey late-afternoon sky above them seemed to continue forever.

“And if your tranquilisers don’t work?” he asked, turning back slightly.

“I’ll use rubber bullets. And if those don’t work, then I’ll have to use live rounds.” She patted the side of her coat. “I keep them in the belt here, but I pray I won’t ever have to use them unless I get into situations like what happened just now.”

“You’re awfully laid-back for a hunter.”

“I wanted to be a gunsmith, but my family has a long history of hunting and my dad passed away, so I took on the generational trade. Still -” she pushed her hair out of her face, “- I need to keep it clean. I have a rule never to hit real animals.”

“Of course.”

“Animoids will kick for a bit, but they don’t shed so much blood. Electric ones are affordable. You can collect holograms in a mobile emanator.”

“How do you get the pelts?”

“Most are synthetic, from animoids. But real sheep will give you good wool. I’ll usually shear them in the field itself, then bring it back to knit.” She smiled. “I take a bit from every sheep I come across. They’re so rare, it feels like I’m keeping a part of them alive that way.”

Jungkook was stirring in the passenger seat. He’d fallen asleep with his mouth open. Now he shut it and sat up groggily, looking around.

Yoongi glanced at him.

“We’re going back,” he said, flashing a small smile.

“Come to think of it,” Yves said. “Can you drop me by my house for a while?” She held the plastic container of worms up for him to see. “I need to refrigerate these. They don’t do well in warm weather for long.”

“Is it far?”

“No. We’re already reaching the turnoff. Just continue until I tell you to filter out of the lane.”

He turned in at colony 365 onto another path. The houses here were tall, with spiralled stone roofs. They passed by a well in a dusty clearing of grassland. Her house was a small run-down thing, stone-bricked, a worn wooden door, lots of windows.

Yves was unlocking the front door when they heard barking from inside. Then something was scratching at the wood behind.

“Popchik?” Yoongi asked, waiting behind. She opened the door.

Popchik was a white-haired boisterous thing, bounding circles around her as she entered, pinkish tongue hanging out of its mouth. She’d wrapped a patterned bandana around its neck and a thicker fur lining around the torso.

“He doesn’t bite,” she said, looking back at them. “Come in.”

Yoongi toed off his shoes at the door and stepped inside. Wooden floors, tribal print rugs and a wall decorated with her splendid pelt display. Above the herringbone-patterned couch, another large metal chicken-wire grid hung with rifles, tools and guns from a long time ago, picture frames of old animal anatomy drawings and woodcut ink prints.

Jungkook stared at the rows of weapons on the wall.

“That’s a Winchester,” he said pointing up at a wooden shotgun near the ceiling. “1912. Wow.”

“I got that from a retired boar hunter,” Yves said, dusting down her jacket. She’d turned it inside-out, beating at the fluffy red inner lining with her hand. “It doesn’t work anymore, but the outer shell was in good condition.”

“What are these things?” Jungkook had gone up to the couch and was leaning over it, supporting his weight on the top of the backrest. “... Pang - Pangolin?”

“Extinct,” Yves said, hanging her rifle up on the door hook. “I salvaged a few scale specimens, but they’re locked in a drawer. If you look up there -” she pointed to a spot somewhere on the wall of weapons, “- that’s a key deer skull. They’re extinct too. I found it in a charity auction.”

“Do you collect everything?”

“I’m trying to build up an inventory of all the species which died out after Nostrum.” She went to a low side table and slid a thick, leather-bound book off it, handing it to Jungkook. “This is what I have so far. Mutant species, extinct ones, the ones who survived.”

Jungkook started carefully flicking through the book.

“Many traditional hunters suddenly became taxidermists and made specimens from the hordes of carcasses they were bringing back from the wild,” she said, examining a case of pinned butterflies which she’d taken off the wall. “That was before animoids came around. I don’t really count them as true animals, though.”

“So you’re trying to save … both the animals and the hunting trade.” Jungkook went to the couch and sat down with the book. “How do you do both?”

He looked up and shrank back at her silence.

“I - I don’t mean it like that.”

“No, you’re right,” Yves said. “That’s what confuses me, you know?”

He kept quiet.

“You’d have expected the trade to stop after Nostrum - I mean, how many species can survive an ecological fallout? No animals, nothing to hunt.”

“They still managed to repopulate the wild animals,” Jungkook observed from the book. “Right down to the exact numbers which existed before Nostrum.”

“Yeah, but synthetics don’t feel the same.” Her eyes fell on a hanging print of a bird-of-paradise, done on silkscreen. “Sometimes I don’t know whether it’s the trade or the tradition which I’m trying to save.”

Jungkook closed the book and handed it back to her.

“That’s why I collect all of this,” she said, taking it. “It’s supposed to be a testimony to something … I don't know what it is yet, but I’ll find it one of these days.”

She returned the butterfly case to a hook near the window, above a large bureau stacked with a vase of colourful flowers and feathers. Yoongi followed her into the back room, where a carved bow hung above the doorway.

The backroom was sparse, exposed brick walls and a wooden table in the centre of the small space, an old electric tungsten lamp and some table decorations on it. Two chairs on either side of the table. Yoongi went to the window and looked out.

Yves had a paraffin stove at the corner of the room, next to a washbasin, an old microwave and a small cooler. She was putting the plastic container of protein-producing worms into the cooler box.

“How’d you manage to find all these?” Yoongi said, scrutinising the electric lamp on the table. He pushed the switch and the light went on.

“Took me a long time,” Yves said, closing the lid of the box. “If they haven’t been discarded, most of these artifacts are in really bad physical condition, let alone functional. But if you look around you’ll find that there are some good dealers in town.”

“Any chance you know where I can find old maps? Pre-blackout?”

“I have some, actually,” she said. “Wait here.”

She went into the bedroom and searched for a few minutes, coming back out with a crate full of paper. She put it on the dining table and took the lid off.

“You’re looking for anything in particular?”

“Might be a long shot, but a train map of the old subway. Maybe 2015.”

She started searching.

“Railway road from the 1980s.” She laughed. “I can’t remember where I got this thing.”

“Amazing, but that’s too old.”

“Ah. I have one from 2020. Double-sided, quite good quality.” She took it out of the packaging and held it up. “Might this be useful?”

Yoongi peered at it. He recognised a few names.

“Can I make a copy of this?”

“Sure. Just be careful with it.”

“Of course.”

She clapped her hands, calling for Popchik. The dog ambled into the backroom. She placed a piece of dried meat in a round metal dish and laid it on the floor under the table.

“He’ll be happy to stay here for the time being,” she said, observing it. Then she turned to him. “Do you want a drink?”

He gave a small nod. She prepared three cups of oolong in clay-fired cups and set two of them on the dining table. Yoongi noticed the little sculpted penguin candle decoration next to the planter as he pulled up the chair and sat down.

Yves saw him looking at it.

“It’s cute, isn’t it?” she said. “Jiwoo gave it to me from her collection.”

Yoongi leaned down closely to inspect the detailing done in the wax.

“She just thinks penguins are cute.” Yves smiled behind her cup, leaning against the kitchen counter. “She was born too late, though. None of them left in the wild, so she keeps fake ones.”

Jungkook had come into the kitchen, stopping at the doorway. She stopped talking and looked up at him. He gave her a blank stare, caught off-guard by the sudden attention.

Then Yves reached over and pulled the chair out for him, motioned for him to sit down.

“Jiwoo sang a song for me on my birthday,” she said for some reason, going back to her post beside the counter. “We were eating in Omelas. Then she gave me this. I wasn’t expecting it at all.”

She looked up at the bare walls of her kitchen.

“That feels like such a long time ago, though. Sometimes I wish I could go back. She comes all the way here to visit when I’m around, but most of the time I’m away from home.”

“Have you always lived by yourself?”

“Yeah.” Yves swirled the cup around a little, as if she was measuring the amount of tea left inside. “This is a solitary type of job. The guys told you that I used to keep moving, but recently I figured that I just want to settle down somewhere and build a proper home for myself.”

Up on the wall, a cuckoo clock suddenly sounded. Yoongi looked up, noticing it for the first time. It was shaped like a birdhouse and painted in bright colours.

“There’s no honour among hunters. It gets to you after some time. Seeing shadows moving outside your tent, sleeping with your rifle because you’re afraid of thieves.” She shook her head. “You won’t know until you’re the one being hunted.”

She set the empty cup down on the counter and silently watched the two of them for a while.

“I never used to have visitors until Jiwoo came along. Guess I never really told her this, but -” Yves smiled to herself, “- I really don’t know what I’d do without her.”

They went back out after that, hoping to hit the road before the sky got dark. It was a barren place, dried hassocks and the occasional discoloured sumac bush dotting the landscape. Other houses were barely visible in the haze, obstructed by scrawny trees and giant metal scaffolds resembling the Russian Woodpecker.

The police car looked out of place, sitting there on the dirt track. Dust was caking on its tyres and headlights.

\---

It was evening when they got back to the city. They were heading to the underground tunnel, finding the nearest entrance to the Substation.

“Figured I might as well ask Taehyung to lend me a place,” Yves said. “I’ll be stuck in the city for a while.”

He stopped at the red light, watching the hovercraft pass by at the cross junction in front. One, in particular, caught his attention. It was moving slowly. An advertising craft, he thought. But the images flickering on the digital screen windows were faces. People.

He leaned closer to take a look.

A wanted notice from Wallace, with a few faces under it. Jinsoul’s photo. Jungkook’s photo. He counted three seconds before another ad came on after it.

Then he leaned back heavily against the seat. Jungkook was staring at the dashboard, breathing fast and shallow.

None of them said anything else until he cleared the tunnel and found himself driving through the underground roads for the first time, lit up in icy blue floodlights. He began wishing he hadn’t taken a police car inside.

“People are giving you wary looks,” Yves observed. “They don’t like it when the cops come snooping around.”

“We’ll get in and get out,” Yoongi said tersely. “I’m parking this thing at the office tonight.”

They found Taehyung’s garage. Yves got out of the car, went to the entrance and started pounding on the shutters, saying something.

Taehyung came out soon after, a confused expression on his face when the car moved right into the garage. Yoongi chuckled and switched the engine off before getting out.

“You’re the last person I expected to see,” Taehyung said. Yoongi closed the door.

“I’m sorry for crashing in like this.”

“Don’t bother about that -” Taehyung was gesturing at the car. “What is … _this_? You didn’t say you were a cop.”

“I’m not. Took the wrong car in, I’m sorry.”

“The neighbours will think I’ve been raided by the police.”

“I’m sorry.”

Taehyung went to roll the shutters back down. He came back, cracking the joints of his fingers.

“Who’s the new guy?”

“His assistant,” Yves said, taking off her coat. “Jungkook.”

“He looks wrecked.”

“The man wasn’t so kind to him.” She walked to the couch and sat down. “Tried to take a butchering knife to all of us.”

“I have a couple of things to do.” Yoongi went to the car. “Is Hoseok still around?”

“Gone out,” Taehyung said. “He’s on night shift today.”

Yoongi popped the boot open. “Okay,” he said, looking around, thinking. “Okay, I’ll just call him, nevermind.”

“Why are you looking for him?”

He lifted the box out of the boot and set it on the floor. “Because of this. Hoseok has many contacts. He should know a suitable person.”

“What’s that?”

“An urn.” Yoongi stared at it. “I need someone who’s good at dealing with dead matter.”

“A mudang?”

“No,” Yoongi bent down to take the lid off. “Someone with a good eye for a detail and a microscope.”

Taehyung looked into the box.

“You’re talking about a pathologist,” Yves pointed out from the couch, where she was eating something from Taehyung’s mannequin-leg table food pile.

“Gotta lower your standards,” Taehyung said, going back to a new canvas he was working on. “This is the substation we’re talking about.”

“Think Animoid row can help?” Yves asked, through a mouthful of food.

“You can try, but I’m not sure how well they would react if you walked up and dumped a box of bones on their table.”

“Granny Trang has a microscope. She’s got taxidermied monkeys hanging from her stall ceiling.”

“Granny Trang doesn’t do small stuff like this. She’s got bigger things to worry about.”

“I’ll call Hoseok, don’t worry.” Yoongi went to the phone on the wall. “Can I use this?”

“Sure.”

Then Taehyung was looking at Jungkook.

“Jungkook, was it?” he said.

“Yeah.”

A vague silence followed, just the sound of Yves rustling plastic wrappers at the table.

“Hey, sit down,” Taehyung offered his painting stool to him. “You look terrible. What’s that on your face?”

Jungkook lifted his hand to touch it. “I got injured.”

Taehyung stopped at a low table to mix paint on a wooden palette. He went back to the canvas, talking as he worked.

“So how’d you get to know Yoongi?”

“We met not too long ago.”

“You’re his colleague?”

“I’m helping him out for a while.”

Yoongi tried to filter out their conversation, pressing the receiver close to his right ear and covering the other ear with his hand. He turned off the vidscreen function.

Hoseok picked up after the fifth ring.

“Hello?”

“Hoseok, I need to ask you something. Is this a good time to speak?”

“I don’t have anyone with me at the moment.”

“Okay,” Yoongi swallowed. “Do you know of anyone from human services who can analyse human remains for a small fee? Someone who works fast and won’t ask too many questions?”

A long pause. He could hear Hoseok’s breathing.

“You killed someone now?”

“No. I dug up something this afternoon.”

“Is it a whole body?” Hoseok said. Yoongi could hear the blinker sound of the cab going off.

“Human remains. Bones, more like.” Yoongi looked back at the box. “An urn of it.”

“You can try Biennale Alley.” Hoseok paused. “There’s a retired biochemist working down there. Heard about her ammo and sleep serums, they’re apparently pretty good. She’s not a doctor, but it’s as close as you can get.”

“I’ll take anything.”

“Okay, I’ll give you the address. It’s in the basement of a bookstore called Aventine. Go in and ask the person behind the till for Vanya.”

Dinnertime, and he was rushing down to Biennale Alley in one of Taehyung's borrowed cars. It was some kind of arts district, murals on the walls and tasteful street decor. Aventine stood out well enough; it was a bookshop done up in paper grid screens and double wooden doors.

The place inside was cramped. He hugged the box to his body and went to the till, which was swamped with books of horizontal texts and a Guanyin statuette on a small altar behind. The young boy behind seemed hesitant to bring him down, but saw the box he was carrying and unlatched the door to the basement.

“Watch your step,” he said, through teeth lined with braces. Yoongi descended the stairs, finding himself in a sparse basement, the shelves neatly organised. Tubes of blue liquid bubbled in an elaborate apparatus set-up on the main table.

“Who’s that?” someone called.

Yoongi stepped further into the room, saw the jars of dark, pickled organs lining the shelves next to odd-sized flasks of metal instruments.

A tall woman was working in the corner, hunched over something on a workbench. She turned around. Braided hair, thick glasses and the dogged face of someone with not enough sleep.

“You are …” she trailed off, putting the tools down and looking hard at him.

“I was referred here.”

“By who?”

“People on the streets. I’ve got something I need you to look at.”

She eyed the box warily. “Biohazardous material?”

“That’s what I’m hoping to check. I have no idea who buried it there.”

“Bring it here,” she said, gesturing at the table. He carried it over and set it down, the contents rattling inside.

She put on gloves and goggles, then took the lid off.

“I found it in my backyard. Just wanted to confirm the origins.”

Reaching in, she took a fragment out and held it up to the dim light.

“Human?” she said, giving him a doubtful look. She placed it on a clean cloth.

“I’m inclined to believe so.”

“I’ll just lay everything out here so we can take a better look.” She was taking the pieces out one by one. “It’s not a complete skeleton, hm?”

“I didn’t remove anything.”

“I didn’t say you did,” she said, with a little laugh. “There’s a lock of hair here too … oh, it’s tied into a bunch. How convenient.”

She laid it out next to the bones. The next thing she took out caught Yoongi’s attention.

“Some kind of dog tag,” she said, placing it on the table. “With something on it. No name, though.”

Yoongi picked it up. Just the numbers 1057 carved into it, nothing else.

“This urn -” she gave it a little knock with the back of her hand, “ - it’s held up surprisingly well. Any idea of who used to live in the area?”

“No.”

“Hm,” she said. She took a bone fragment and a scalpel, shaved off a small amount, and prepared a slide with epoxy glue and reams of polishing paper.

“Let me see …” she looked into the eyepiece. Her hand went to the small focus knob.

“Not seeing anything strange so far.” She twisted the objective lenses. “I’ll try a higher magnification.”

Yoongi waited, running his gaze over the remains laid out on the table. He picked up the dog tag and stared at it for a while, then put it into his pocket.

“I think I see something,” she said at last. “Evidence of osteoporosis. Yes, the bone cells are a little damaged.”

“Damaged,” Yoongi echoed, his pulse quickening. “Are you able to tell how?”

“No, not with this.” She looked up. “Let me check the bone density.”

She placed a sample into an x-ray machine.

“I’ll run a check on the hair as well.”

The lock was placed in a clean resealable bag and placed on a photocopier-like machine with flashy green lights under the glass. She took a bone fragment and ran it through another box-like machine on the table, producing a radiological printout, which she placed on a lightbox.

“Bones are hollow and damaged. Low mineral density. Calcium, specifically.”

She was tapping on the screen for the report.

“No damage to the hair.”

“Anything you can tell about biological makeup?”

“Old age, probably. Bones have less mineral mass than normal. A female.” Vanya returned the bone fragment to the table. “Most likely pregnant, due to give birth shortly before the time of death.”

\---

The drive back was silent, his head mostly blank and very tired. He pulled up to the garage at eight-thirty. Taehyung was swallowing down soba, sitting in front of his half-completed painting with one shoe on and one shoe lying forlornly on the ground under the easel.

“Find anything?” he asked, looking up.

“Female,” Yoongi said, handing the car keys back to him. “Died before giving birth.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Probably have to let my boss know.” Yoongi put the box back into the car boot. “They’ll run a check on the serial number in the database.”

“How about the remains?”

“Back to the office as well.”

He left a message for Mr Yeung in the car, apologising for calling outside of office hours but saying that he found something of importance. He pushed the transistor back into the holder and leaned against the headrest with a deep exhale.

Then he got out of the car, looking for Jungkook. He was eating porridge, seated cross-legged on the floor beside the couch. Yves was still on the couch, reading a book.

She heard him coming and glanced up.

“Are you going home?”

“Maybe not.” Yoongi took the packet of instant noodles she held out to him. “I’ll have to go to the office tomorrow morning.”

“You’ll be waiting for Hoseok?”

“I expect he’ll want to know.”

“You guys can sleep upstairs,” Taehyung said from the other side of the garage. “I’ve got a room with four empty couches for times like this.”

Yoongi sat down on the floor, watching Jungkook eat. The sooner his face was out of the public imagination, the better.

He took the penlight scanner from his bag and set it on the floor. Yves was engrossed in her book. He tapped it on the ground twice. Jungkook looked up at him curiously. Yoongi tilted his head towards the kitchen.

Then Jungkook understood. He stood up and carried his noodles to the other side of the room, standing near the car. Yoongi took his food and went to the pantry area.

“Are you going to scan me now?” Jungkook whispered. He set the noodles down on the counter.

“The faster the better,” Yoongi said. “You saw what it said, right? Bounty on your head’s getting bigger. I don’t want your portrait floating around out there for too long.”

He aimed the small tracking light at Jungkook’s eye.

“Try not to blink,” he said. “Hold on …”

A soft beep. Yoongi quickly brought it down to check the biometric information in the tiny blue screen.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll need something from you to show them.”

Jungkook’s voice grew small. “What?”

“A buccal swab. I’ll say I couldn’t find the body.”

He went to the sink and got a glass, filling it with water from the tap. Then he searched the drawers, opening and closing them as quietly as he could. He found a small jar of toothpicks and took one out.

“Rinse your mouth first. Make sure it’s clean.” He took a toothpick out and passed it to him. “I’m going to get the kit.”

He came back with a clear resealable bag, flocked swabs and sterile packing tubes. Jungkook dropped the toothpick into the bin.

Yoongi washed the empty glass and took a clean sterile packing tube out.

“This won’t hurt,” he said. “Open up.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Just cheek cells,” Yoongi motioned at his own face. “It’s for the evidence.”

He took the swab and ran it along the inside of the left cheek, moving from the top to bottom. He could feel Jungkook’s gaze on him, even stuck in that clumsy position against the kitchen counter. Yoongi silently counted off thirty seconds and took another sample from the left cheek.

He sealed them in clean tubes, put them into the clear bag.

“This should do,” he murmured. “Rinse your mouth again.”

\---

Hoseok came back late. He was taking off his jacket when he noticed Yoongi sitting on the couch in the dark, a drink on the table in front of him.

“Did you find Vanya?”

“Yeah.”

“How was it?”

“A dead mother.” Yoongi stared at the glass on the table, eyes glazed over. “Thought I’d wait for you.”

Hoseok hung his jacket over a chair. He came over to the coffee table, his frame blocking out the streetlight from Yoongi’s view, which was still filtering in from the half-pulled down rolling shutter.

“Wanna go somewhere else to talk about it?”

Three in the morning, and they were going down the bridge, cruising very slowly. Traffic was scarce. The buildings on either side were lit up, blue and pink, white spotlights, silent drones, the black sky.

Yoongi had been quiet the whole ride, close to falling asleep in his seat. Hoseok abruptly stopped the car by the road shoulder.

“Hyung,” he whispered. “We’re here.”

Yoongi pulled himself out of the car. He saw Hoseok waiting ahead on the footpath. There was a light drizzle, water getting on his face. He forced himself to jog over to the sheltered walkway, a grin breaking out on his face. Hoseok locked the car, a sharp beep in the fuzzy calm of the bridge.

“Walk with me,” he said, already going ahead. “I want to show you something.”

They moved in silence under the sheltered walkway, until they reached the highest point of the bridge. Hoseok stopped and turned to face the wide, open expanse of streets and buildings below them. The cold wind blew rain onto their clothes. Yoongi grabbed onto the railings.

“This is what you wanted to show me?” Yoongi said, dabbing at the cold shower spray on his face. “Why?”

“Those giant ads. Look at them.” Hoseok was pointing. A tall holographic Soviet ballerina was leaping between buildings. A Monopoly man waving his hat.

To the left, a large JOI ad. The latest model, a giant pink-skinned, blue-haired nude lady. She was standing in contrapposto next to a building. The Wallace logo was hovering in front of her

“Sometimes I stop here to take my supper,” Hoseok said. He pointed at the giant JOI model. “She’s nice.”

“... What do you mean?”

“She’s friendly,” Hoseok looked at him pointedly. “What did you think I meant?”

“She _talks_ to you?”

“It’s a one-sided conversation.”

“What does she say?”

“Her pre-programmed lines from the television ads.” Hoseok shook his head. “Feels better though, to hear voices up here. Gets real lonely on night rides.”

“Turn on the radio, then.”

Hoseok only laughed. His neatly combed hair was dampened by the rain. They watched the Soviet ballerina prance out of sight.

“I feel like I owe you an apology.” Hoseok folded his elbows, pressing them against the handrails. Yoongi was standing a few paces away from him, but from here he could see the faint smile on his face.

“For what?”

“You know why I was so invested in Halfaxa. That’s where I disappeared for those last few months. Now you know. Five years too late, but now you know.”

They watched the chains of tiny cars move slowly down on the streets.

“I’ve forgotten about that.”

“You haven’t. You wouldn’t have. And we won’t get any of those years back.”

“It really wasn’t your fault.”

“Look, I didn’t tell you anything about it.” Hoseok paused, looking at him. “Hey, I thought you’d still be sore.”

“I’m not. Serious.” Yoongi was running one finger over the rust gathering on the railings. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way either.”

JOI was now moving across the zig-zag grid of flyovers. From afar, her movements were floaty, like watching a slow-motion film.

“Why don’t you play anymore?”

Yoongi shook his head, smiling. “Just don’t feel like it.”

“You used to love doing it.” Hoseok mimed the action of pressing piano keys. “Do you remember that girl, what was her name, she said she liked -”

“Stop,” Yoongi said, chuckling slightly. “Don’t bring that up again. People change.”

“So ... we’re cool?”

“Yeah.”

A lone car zoomed by on the bridge behind them, tyres splashing on rain water. Yoongi leaned against the railings, arms crossed. “Do you still think about Namjoon?”

Hoseok tapped distractedly on the metal with one of his fingers.

“Sometimes.”

They were silent for a few moments.

“Sometimes it just hits you that you live in the city. _The_ city.” Hoseok gestured at the view in front of them. “He could be anywhere. He might not even be alive.”

“Or he might have moved off-world.”

Hoseok nodded. “And somehow we all met again. It has to mean something.”

“Are you still angry at him?”

“Not anymore. It gets tiring, you know? And It’s just the way he is. I mean, he’s always been that sort. He sees something wrong, he has to try to fix it. The rest of us -”

“You guys seem to be living good lives.”

“Doesn’t really feel that way, to me at least. I think I’m getting desensitised to all that icky substation business. You know the other day, someone was cutting off the heads of animoid chickens in front of me at the market and I just stared at it, feeling bored.”

“What did you expect yourself to do?”

“I don’t know, but I really didn’t expect myself to stand there and watch.”

“Morbid fascination,” Yoongi said.

“I hate gore. You know that. The sensory overload probably numbed my reflexes or something.”

Yoongi pushed back damp hair from his face. “So did you get your learning implant removed?”

“Yeah, of course. Right after I graduated.” Hoseok glanced at him. “What about you?”

“Same here.”

The wind had changed direction and was blowing a thick, misty spray of cold water in their direction. Yoongi squinted slightly and put his hand up to shield his face, trying to listen to Hoseok talk over the sound of the rain.

“They all seem to be doing very well,” Yoongi said carefully. “The rest of them.”

“Yeah, no shit. You can tell when I stand next to them.”

“But you’ve got a stake in Taehyung’s business, don’t you?”

“That’s just the racing part. His game is the thing that gets them more dough. People pay to be entertained and they bet on who will make it there first. And his paintings go for a lot. Have you seen the commissions he does for people?”

Yoongi slowly shook his head.

“He snagged the right market for everything. Yves and Jimin too. Whole lotta people know and recognise their work.”

Cold silence. Another car rushed by on the bridge behind them.

“Princess Ririko is a cult,” Yoongi said quietly after a while. “I went to look it up.”

The silence became uncomfortable.

“Jimin knows that. We know that. But it’s just a job for him, and I agree. They pay him to dance, he’s good at it and he loves it, so he does, and the money is good. Everything turns out fine in the end, and I’m genuinely – happy for him.”

“And you think it didn’t for you?”

“I don’t know, but it feels like I just wasted my time on something that never saw any change, you know? I mean, neurocables are used by all the top state agencies and corporations now, and nobody’s raised much of a stink about them yet. They’re actually effective. Revolutionary. Whoever invented them is making their billions now, good for them. It just feels like I used so much time on some movement that never saw anything great coming out of it, and in addition to that I get a compulsory pay cut and blacklisted from ever being employed in higher positions on the government payroll just ‘cos of my school record. It just … reeks of regret. This whole thing reeks of regret.”


	6. blackout sun

Early morning condensation was dripping down his windows. Yoongi was alone in the dark car, stuck at the traffic light. Red beamed in through the water on his windscreen, the wipers moving. He followed the back and forth movement with his eyes.

He had taken the report out and folded it into three sections, leaving the section with Olivia’s signature facing up, sitting on the dashboard. He kept glancing at it, just to be sure he wasn’t seeing things. The matching dog tag from the box of remains was hanging off his rear-view mirror, the metal glinting and winking in the streetlights.

The box was in the backseat. He could hear the urn rattling around inside.

The car behind had been tailgating him since they’d gotten off the expressway, and it wasn’t doing anything to help him calm down.

Mr Yeung had called him early in the morning to tell him about how they managed to secure a pathologist. He was brushing his teeth in the bathroom and the cordless was drily ringing on the table again, the sharp sound grating on his nerves. After a while, he spat in the sink and went out to grab the cordless, taking it back with him to the bathroom.

The visiting pathologist had been rung up from the department specifically for the visit. While Mr Yeung’s organisation was a subcontractor, the police department didn’t share resources with them, not especially manpower. The pathologist was a tall, shrewd-looking man in his fifties named Mr Ang, who wore faded cotton button-ups tucked into baggy pants. Today he was standing in the examination room talking to the lab technician, probably trying to rush a previous job he’d left unfinished.

Yoongi went in and placed the box on the metal examination table. Mr Yeung had come down to the room too, standing there looking around with an air of importance even though he had no idea what any of it was.

The lab technician excused himself and went to the trolleys, busying himself with measuring and pouring out chemical solutions. A row of clear dropper and reagent bottles had been lined up on the workbench in front, along with a tripod stand that held a test tube, boiling away some greenish liquid under a Bunsen flame.

Yoongi stood by, waited for Mr Ang to put on gloves and open the urn with this comically confused look on his face.

“This was found at the kill site of target CT2041, half-buried in the ground. The Pilotfish drone has a clearer image of the aerial scan, but it’s quite clear that the box was intentionally buried there.”

Mr Yeung gave Yoongi two stiff thumps on the back, between his shoulder blades.

“I’ll leave all the explaining to you. Trust you know what you’re doing.”

He left. The lab technician was running around looking for wrapping gauze to use on the remains. Mr Ang had turned on the table lamp and was examining the shattered half of femur bone on the table.

“You got it checked by a private doctor before this?”

“A biochemist, to be specific. We weren’t able to find a proper doctor in time for the report deadline.”

Mr Ang folded the pieces of wrapping cloth that Yoongi had requested Vanya to return.

“I’ll have to take these wrappers in for separate analysis,” he said, stacking them in a heap. “Just want to ensure there’s been no cross-contamination.”

“What about the hair?”

“I’ll only need a small piece of it.” Mr Ang took the polyethene bag and held it up, the neat clump visible through the clear blue-tinted material. It had been fastened with a wire twist in the middle, something Yoongi hadn’t noticed until now. “Mr Yeung might want you to go back to Wallace with the rest of this to check the identity of the replicant.”

“Okay.”

“Give me at least a day for the remains,” Mr Ang said, watching the lab technician carefully wrap each bone fragment in gauze. “The hair sample will be returned to Mr Yeung’s desk by this afternoon.”

While waiting for further orders, he went to the restroom, then wandered out to the deserted office lounge area, where he spotted Yeojin washing a mug by the sink.

She saw him as he tried to walk away and cheerfully called out his name.

“Came back to submit something?” she asked, standing in front of the hot water dispenser. Something was frothing inside it, a low humming sound. The whole place smelled like smoke and lily air freshener.

Yoongi stood by one of the round metal tables, wondering if he should sit down. The windows here were all hung with blinds, with just a few bars of light on the ceiling illuminating the seating area.

“A few things for the report,” Yoongi said. “I’m down by two. How’s Jin-hyung doing?”

“He’s recovering,” she said, checking the microwave. “I mean, probably won’t be out for another month at least, but he reported back to us on the state of his condition and the doctors think he’s getting on fine, better than they expected.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah.”

“He was your superior?”

“Officially my colleague, but yeah, I saw him as that. We worked together most of the time.”

“A team, then.” Yeojin stopped to take her box of lotus seed buns out of the microwave. “Why’d you quit?”

“Believe me,” Yoongi said, brushing his hair at the back of his head, “I’ve been asked that question many times and I still don’t have a good answer.”

“As in, you don’t know?” She came to the table. “How can you not know?”

“It’s not good enough.”

“Is it that complicated?”

Yoongi kept quiet.

“Want one?” she held the box out. He pulled up one of the cheap aluminium chairs and sat down on the edge of it, staring at the pieces inside the box. Yeojin placed her mug on the table and sat down opposite him.

“I still never really understand what the runners do.”

Yoongi rested his elbows on the edge of the table. “How’d you even find employment here, then?”

“They were looking for an administrative worker. Someone who could also handle frontline, like, customer service, and I’ve had some experience before. Went for two rounds of interviews, got the job a week later.”

Yoongi narrowed his eyes slightly. “Sorry, but how old are you?”

“Seventeen,” she said. “I’m, uh, graduating secondary school soon.”

“You must have had an impressive resume, then,” Yoongi said. “He doesn’t usually take students.”

Yeojin was chewing on a bun. “Is that so?”

“Mr Yeung goes through lots of secretaries - you name it, female or male, young or old, human or replicant. He’ll take them as long as he thinks they can do the job. He’s well-known for being pretty hands-off, but he expects you to know what to do.”

“Straight from the horse’s mouth, as they say,” Yeojin murmured into her coffee mug, grinning. “You didn’t quit because of him, did you?”

“It’s more than that.”

“Mm.” She was tearing open a sugar packet.

“Most of them quit because they wanted to, not because he wanted them to. The best I’ve seen so far was a college graduate who lasted for about two years.”

“Pity I won’t get to see if I can break that record,” she said, stirring the coffee with a spoon. “The contract was six months exactly.”

“Since when did students start getting long breaks?” Yoongi said. “I don’t remember anything like that.”

“It’s a gap year thing,” she said. “My god, has it been that long since you left school?”

“Now you’re making me feel old.”

“Look at Mr Yeung,” she said, with this sudden impulsive burst of humour. “You’ll feel better about yourself.”

They laughed.

“Still,” Yeojin said, continuing to gesture with her hand, “I never expected to be working for a place like this. Not many permanent staff, no one actually working inside the building for most of the time. It’s always deserted at lunch hour.”

“Do you like it?”

“It’s alright. The other agents whisper a lot around me and we’ve got to deal with many strange subcontract workers, plus I’m not allowed in the archive storage room, but other than that it’s pretty much what I expected.”

Yoongi was nodding along. He contemplated the buns inside the box and decided to take one. They sat there, quietly eating for a while.

“Do they still use neurocables in school?” he asked. Yeojin was tilting her coffee mug towards her to stir something at the bottom.

“Yeah,” she said, like a question. “I thought they’ve been around for a long time.”

“I’ve heard about system loopholes. Some people think they’re dangerous.”

“Well, yeah, because someone could send you anything through them, and it’d all go straight to your memory retention, but -” she shook her head, “- I haven’t found anything wrong with them so far.” She stared at the last bun in the box. “ - Why’d you ask?”

“I’ve just … heard things, that’s all.”

Yeojin drank her coffee in silence for a while.

“You guys are always so vague,” she eventually said, smiling faintly. “Like, I’ve gotten used to it but it still amuses me. Is that part of your job description?”

“I don’t know.” Yoongi looked down at his fuzzy reflection in the shiny aluminium table surface. “Maybe just another occupational hazard.”

\---

Afternoon came. He went back up to Mr Yeung’s office, knocked on the door and was let in immediately. The hair sample was on the table as promised. Mr Yeung beckoned for him to sit down.

Yoongi pulled the chair out with reluctance. He hadn’t intended to come up for a chat. He’d hoped Mr Yeung would give him the stuff he needed and send him on his merry way. The perpetual lack of light in here, along with all those old-fashioned screens tuned into nothing but white noise hurt his eyes like hell.

“I’m kind of in a hurry,” Yoongi mumbled, reaching for the bag. But Mr Yeung moved it away from him.

“I have to ask you something first.”

“Okay.”

“Jungkook’s samples.”

Yoongi stared at him for a beat, suddenly becoming aware of a ticking clock somewhere inside the office, the bubbling of water in the electric kettle behind the desk.

“Anything wrong?” he said.

“Nothing wrong. Just that I’d like to know how you managed to get him so quickly. And without a direct audio report too.”

“He reached his expiry. There was nothing left for me to do. The traffickers said he rotted away in the end.”

“Did he?”

“They could only salvage crucial organs and shorn hair. I was only allowed to take samples back.”

“No aerial photograph of the site?”

A snag in the plan. He’d completely forgotten about that. Yoongi crossed his legs under the table, chewing on his lower lip.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to say. “I forgot. People were compromising the scene. I couldn’t get anything out.”

Mr Yeung was reading the pathologist’s report. “Doesn’t sound like you.”

“The body’s nowhere to be found, Mr Yeung. They’d already cleaned it out, dissected everything they needed to take and I wasn’t allowed to bring any pieces back at all.” He scratched his ear. “And you know how it is in the Substation. It’s hard to get anything out of people if you’re not one of their kind.”

“You found him in the Substation?” Mr Yeung frowned. “You should’ve told me earlier.”

“He got pretty far.”

“That’s a dead end, I guess.” Mr Yeung rubbed at his nose. “It’s fine. I won’t push you about it any further. We’ll just mark this as an irregularity and send it to the authorities to close the case.”

“And Wallace?”

Mr Yeung didn’t seem to understand what he was talking about.

“Wallace put out notices. They’ll have to update them. People will misunderstand.”

Then Mr Yeung was nodding. “Of course. I’ll ring them up later.”

“I’m sorry about mishandling the scene.”

“It’s alright,” Mr Yeung pushed the hair bag towards him. “We’ll take your word for it. You’re doing this for the first time in a while. Sometimes emotion gets in the way, especially for high-stakes cases. It’s common even in the replicant runners. We understand.”

“Thank you.”

Mr Yeung nodded. “I’ve got other news for you. We’ve got a change of plans, but nothing too drastic as far as you’re concerned.”

He was going over something on his computer screen, his mouth moving slightly as he read in silence. When he’d reached the bottom of the page he looked up at Yoongi again.

“Two things. Wallace has confirmed some sort of pandemic outbreak at its facilities, which it is trying its best to contain. No problem for us, except that there’s been a slew of bleeders leaving the Wallace compounds and off-world colonies in secret, and they’re worried about those carrying the virus entering cities.”

There was silence as the information sank in.

“Is it serious?”

“Right now, they’re not sure. Wallace has done tests on those subjects they’ve managed to quarantine and they’re currently looking at a 0.2% infection rate.” He gave Yoongi an empathetic nod. “Not to mean that they’re dying, of course. It’s still unclear, but this virus only affects their memory retention and recall.”

“I’ll still assume that’s a pretty sore point for them.”

Mr Yeung nodded again, rubbing at his chin. “Wallace doesn’t want compromises on their thousands of existing operational units all over the off-world colonies.”

Replicants with degraded memories were harder to control. Those with none usually became a public danger. Yoongi shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Have any of them come here yet?”

“We’ve tracked small groups of them arriving through the Stargate with permits for seeking manual labour as migrants. Nothing illegal in that. But a few of them have registered positive tests for the virus back at Wallace after they did en masse remote implant scans, meaning they shouldn’t have been allowed to enter in retrospect.”

“Who’s going after those, then?”

“Everyone we hired. We’ve been taking cases from the authorities as well as we can, but one person surely can’t do all the retirement by themselves. Which brings me to my next point -”

“- You want me to help as well.”

“Yes. The subcontractors are doing their best but they’ve also got other motives, which don’t always translate to better work. Some of them are getting sloppy. I’ve got three bounties out for older cases, which I left to a couple of independent organ trade runners to handle, and we also don’t have Seokjin here with us at this point.”

“How many did you assign to each person?”

“At the moment, one or two groups. I’ve chosen a target for you already. Their last known location aligns quite closely with your remaining two targets.”

“Which is?”

“You need to go back underground,” Mr Yeung said, reaching for the case folder. “I’m not going to make you run separate tests on any of them. Wallace has confirmed the whole group as an imported case on our side. Four individuals, two males and two females.”

He was opening the file.

“You can have a look at their specs here. I’d say they’re quite easy to recognise. Class Bs, entertainer models, always move in the same huddle. The Substation would be the one place they’d naturally flock to.”

Yoongi scanned through the documents.

“Can I keep the photographs?”

“Take them back, make copies. I need the originals here.”

“Okay.” He stowed them away. “You said something about a second assignment?”

“Your second assignment,” Mr Yeung said, holding up the bag, “is to take this hunk of hair and bring it down to Wallace’s Blackout Center. Get them to do a check of this particular model’s memory archives and bring a report back. We still don’t know how Citadel was connected to the case.”

Yoongi took the bag. “She may not be related to him.”

“We need the report to check what her history was. Skinjobs - even the new ones - don’t have the concept of … death rituals, you get what I mean? That’s an exclusively human thing, to have funerals for people. They accorded her some importance. She must be special. Go find out what it is.”

\---

Yoongi left of the office as fast as he could, heart still pounding all the way down to the first floor. He got out of the building and was hit right smack in the face with a cold shower, the same crazy blue lights of the entertainment nightclub opposite the building, a holographic ad featuring a dancing lady in a roaring twenties’ gold flapper dress moving past him on the dark sidewalk. On the street, a car sounded its horn at the intersection.

He began walking to the food district, keeping the hair sample in the inside pocket of his jacket. The wind was bitingly cold at this hour for some reason. He held his hands out for a bit as he walked, watching the skin on his fingers turn pink.

Over there, it was full of umbrellas and queues of people. He nudged his way down the cluttered backroad behind the restaurant row, hot clouds of food and smoke hanging in the air, thick bars of white light above the street vendor stalls. He managed to get in line for guotiao with extra chopped scallions and stood there in the mess, people pushing past him, the dull throb of red lights from the KTV tenement unit behind it. The woman at the ladle looked like the sort who would take her vegetable knife to people who tried to bargain with her.

They were making hotteok on a side pan, so he got some of that as well and escaped the thrumming mosh of elderly folk congregating around a crowded tent bar by the end of the street. The rain was getting into most of the pancakes as he walked, but he kept to the sheltered footways, going back to the office to get the car.

He switched the radio on inside, somehow managing to balance the plastic microwave tub of hot soup in his hands while slurping the food up, the hotteok already cooling on the passenger seat next to him. The small underground car park, though mostly empty, was hot from the air-conditioning ventilators, and he had to leave the windows open.

Lately he’d been listening to this poor-frequency station which ran extended plays of monotonous and sappy lo-fi, the kind of stuff he could blast while driving in the piss-poor light of dawn or when he was drinking alone in the apartment. Now the announcer was talking with someone, a muffled string of Cantonese banter over the airwaves.

He would drive to Wallace, he figured, biting into one of the dumplings. Could get there in an hour and a half, just needed more time to get checked at the border. The whole establishment was like a miniature city in and of itself, a row of checkpoints at the city highway to get in, background checks, identity checks, for replicants, a few extra checks for emotional deviance.

Now he had to convince them to help him check a retired model’s memory retention, or what was left of it, in their giant network centre. Post-blackout, most data centres had their files completely wiped out. He wondered how much the corporation managed to retain.

Or how much Wallace the man himself wanted to save.

The automated lights suddenly went off around the car, leaving it shrouded in complete darkness. Above him, he could see the little red dot of light from the sprinkler mechanism. He turned the overhead lights on and checked the dashboard vidphone unit for incoming calls, but there were none.

Looked like Mr Yeung had left him to his own devices for now.

And then, for some reason, Jungkook’s I’m-just-as-lost-as-you-are look came into his head, and he put the chopsticks down, wiping at his mouth. Honest to god he didn’t know what to do with him. Yoongi had initially spared Jungkook just to make use of him, but this issue with his memory implants seemed to be blowing up into a bigger problem, a responsibility that he had to take care of. The alternative way to end everything was less troublesome but scarier, and he couldn’t bring himself to do that now.

He turned off the radio, letting the tremor of Jungkook’s voice back at the apartment creep around inside his brain.

_Why are you doing all this?_

Because you confuse me so much, Yoongi thought, fitting the lid on the plastic tub. He waited for another fifteen minutes, finishing off the hotteok in ear-ringing silence, then started the car engine.

\---

Driving to Wallace was a very different experience. It was mostly long and wide highways, but the dark sky above was more chilling when seen from inside a car. The stacks of buildings on both sides gave way to flat fields of stonewash grey residential housing, then rose again as traffic entered flyovers and turn offs which rose over haphazardly-arranged urban villages. Beyond that, the buildings disappeared entirely for a while, forming bleak stretches of lonely barren ground, and when the bridge ascended to a higher altitude, he could see the black glass of Wallace buildings in the smog ahead.

He joined the tailback of vehicles queuing at the checkpoints. A massive sprawl of them, all forming neat lines at the twelve barricaded entrances like mechanical automatons on a factory production line. He watched the chain of cars slowly move forward, the ebbing pulse of red brake lights, the mauve-coloured fog tinted by strong halogen lamps and bad air.

Times like this he wished he hadn’t gone into the whole replicant business. Every trip to Wallace was either a good or bad one, no in-between. And the thought of the off-world colony was still being dangled around in front of him every morning like the proverbial carrot on a stick.

People tended to hold on like he did, for as long as they could, until they could no longer reason that they weren’t screwing themselves over by staying in the city.

A question he didn't want to ask himself now, not when he needed to retain the emotional capacity for other out-of-the-ordinary things which lay ahead. But it was there, sitting in front of him, as clear as the modified backlights of the container truck in front of him.

About what would happen when he was done with all this, when he got his bounty money and managed to repair his decrepit apartment unit. Maybe buy his coveted electric sheep.

What then, he thought, staring at the veins on his pale hands flattened against the steering wheel. What are you going to do then?

Checkpoint officers on motorcycles were threading their way through the gaps between cars, holding out their hands for passports and signed permits. The line moved fast, and he was soon driving down the crabby red-lit street into the city.

He stopped to refuel, deciding on a whim to buy cigarettes at the nearby convenience store, shoving the pack deep into his pocket. The man at the counter had artificially green eyes, some variant of the ocular implant for accessing the web without a physical screen.

He saw the refuelling bill.

“Where are you going?” he asked in Japanese, searching for change in the till drawer. He moved very slowly, like an ancient Galapagos tortoise on the rocks. “You’re gonna drive all the way back?”

“The city library.” Yoongi took his change back. “Blackout centre. Is it far?”

“Just follow the signs,” the man said, pushing the till drawer back in. “Can’t be hard.”

Yoongi stood outside the entrance, hollow-sounding music playing over the PA system. The man doing the refuelling had pushed the brim of his red cap down low and was sagging in a plastic chair next to the carwash sign while he waited. The sky was thick with thunderclouds.

\---

He found the road to the blackout centre, a cathedral-like establishment supported with colonnades and thick doric stone pillars, a giant rose window set into the front facade. He parked by the side of the street and walked up the long flight of steps leading to the entrance.

A stone plaque was hammered into the wall at the landing, with the date of the Blackout inscribed into it, a description of the events that followed, and a short directive below that.

An electromagnetic pulse (EMP) missile launched by renegade replicant groups was launched in the early hours of December 1st, 2032. This event came to be known as THE BLACKOUT, causing massive power outages across all cities and colonies, as well as the destruction of all forms of digitally-stored data, including the Internet.

For Wallace (then-Tyrell) Corporation, this caused the complete and irreversible erasure of the Replicant Registration Database. This centre was built to commemorate the event. The building houses the remnants of replicant memories and personal information salvaged from the pre-2032 archives of Tyrell Corporation.

Upon entry, follow the white rabbit.

Yoongi stared at it for a few seconds and turned away, hunting for the entrance. It was deserted and drearily grey inside. He went further into the building, finding a massive cloister with a coffered ceiling that led all the way down. A framed painting hung at the far end of it.

He walked a short way down, passing by arched doorways which let in scant light from outside, and stopped before one of the many elaborately gilded torchiere lamps that lined the corridor. The detailing in them was very complicated.

He spent some time examining the architecture before realising that he wasn’t the only one in the cloister. Someone was walking around, their shoes making staccato sounds on the marble floor.

The footsteps stopped abruptly. Yoongi waited where he was. After a few minutes of nothing, he drifted over to the other side and stood before one of the arched doorways, staring out at the steps and the road.

When he next turned back, he realised that a person was standing in the middle of the corridor, a few arches away from him. There was enough light for him to make out the pale yellow of her blazer.

“The library is that way,” she said, pointing a gloved hand towards him in the other direction. Her voice echoed in the cavernous space.

“I’m not looking for the library,” Yoongi said. He walked towards her, taking the hair sample bag out of his inner pocket. “I’d like to find the registration database.”

She had already started down the corridor before he could reach her, and now she was moving at a tight clip towards the end of the cloister. They rounded a turn and he was led into a sprawling hall with ceiling-high orange lancet windows on both sides, the space filled with identical rows of shelves.

There was a single desk right before the entrance, the buzz of a holographic screen hovering above it.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” she said, stopping to wait for him this time. There was a shiny tag hanging on a chain from the lapel, a name marked out on it. _Heejin. Archivist._

“Just an old reference number,” Yoongi said, holding up the bag again. “Here’s the confirmation DNA.”

Heejin took it and stared closely at the contents for a beat, then moved to the desk and took the evidence out of the bag, laying it in a little illuminated white trough fitted into the surface on the table. Yoongi hesitated, then walked over slowly, standing a few steps away from her.

“Pre-blackout?” she said, turning to face him, her face tinted green in the glow of the holographic screen. As if on cue, another window popped out, hovering behind the first. She turned back at the sound and frowned, dragging that one out with a finger.

“An old one,” she said softly, after reading it. “Going to be difficult. I can try searching, though.”

She bagged the sample and passed it back to him. “Come along,” she said, already going to the shelves. “You don’t want to get lost inside here.”

They went down a long row of shelves, eventually turning into one near the end. Weak light was filtered orange by the windows and gave the entire place a very headache-inducing glow. He stopped behind Heejin as she pulled one the many tiny drawers open, running a finger down the packed card catalogue casing and pulling one out.

She turned it up to the light and squinted at the tiny engravings on the clear panel. In that sickly orange light, he could see the swivelling mechanisms working inside her irises. She lowered it.

“There’s not much left,” she murmured, still holding on to it. “A standard-issue ID. One of the last Nexus 4 models in our archives, doesn’t have anything special to her name.”

“When was its incept date?”

“2020.” Heejin paused, turning the card over in her hands. “We … might have had more information about her facility and vocational class, but most of those didn’t make it. The entire wing which it was housed in went dark that afternoon.”

“Any chance you might have kept the memory implants?”

“I can’t tell from this alone -” she gave the card a little shake. “But I can ring up the memory archives upstairs, though. You’ll just have to -”

“Another old case?” someone said, a short distance behind him. They turned around. A young lady was standing there, red cropped blazer and a giant owl sitting on her shoulder. She held out her hand.

“Thank you for visiting.” She smiled, but there wasn’t any warmth to it, like icing on a razor. “I’m Jungeun. The Wallace representative.”

So this was the person he was supposed to be looking for.

Heejin had gone very quiet. She hastily handed the card to Jungeun and disappeared back into the maze of shelves without a word.

Yoongi shook the hand hesitantly. “I’m just here to ask about a number.”

“I saw,” Jungeun said. “And I heard that you also wanted to search the memory archives.”

“Am I allowed to?”

“Of course,” she said, turning to walk out of the aisle. She had a strange way of walking. Maybe it was the weight of the owl on her shoulder - which rotated its head around to stare at Yoongi with round glassy eyes.

“It’s just upstairs. Right this way.”

The spiral leading up was dark and blue, railings made of wrought iron and cold to the touch. The top of the spire was a point of light, some sort of glass panel fitted below the dome that cast visibly separated rays downwards.

They got off at the third landing and travelled down a narrow doorway with long vertical gaps in the walls, where he could see the city skyline below. Light coming in through them had turned the doorway a dark yellow.

Jungeun had slowed down, matching her pace to his, and she was going on about some new company policies on accessing archival data, retelling the history of the Blackout, what Wallace had lost in the process. Towing the official line. Yoongi hardly listened to any of it, only nodding and making small noises of agreement every time she paused.

“Did you lose anything in the Blackout, Mr Min?” she abruptly asked. They had stopped in front of a bolted iron door and she was touching the keypad next to it.

“I was a teenager when it happened.” Yoongi turned to look out of one of the wall gaps. “I didn’t have much to lose.”

“Well, good on you then,” she said, smiling again. “It’s ironic how only the hardcopies survived.”

A shivering sweep of blue light projected from a pinhole in the keypad. It ran over her face twice, then the door unlocked with a loud snap, swinging in slowly with an awful groan.

She went forward and heaved the door wide open.

The lights were slowly coming on inside. An old, green-blue series of bare bulbs in the ceiling. Dust was settling over the threshold of the door before their feet.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said, stepping in. “The place hasn’t been opened in a few years. You’re the first in a long time. People don’t normally search for records that far back.”

Yoongi followed her in. The door slammed shut behind them.

She went to one side of the wall, where a glass drawer had slid open. Putting on gloves, she touched something inside the glass drawer and another drawer slot popped open from its niche in the wall.

“These are just wisps,” Jungeun said, running her hand over a felt-lined drawer filled with neat rows of glass orbs, each one with a thin smudge of white inside it. “Incomplete memories. We salvaged what we could and froze them permanently right here.”

And then Yoongi could feel her eyes on him again - observing, probing. Waiting for some sort of reaction. He kept looking into the drawer.

“Where’s hers?”

Jungeun picked one out of the row and slowly held it up for him to look.

“This seems like it. We’ll see what it says.”

There was a screen built into another niche in the wall, a glass pad below it with a small depression in the centre. She placed the memory orb into the depression and stepped back, waiting for the screen to read it.

Red words were appearing on the monitor. Wallace’s insignia, then a string of letters and numbers. An unauthorised warning message in four languages. Finally, a blank screen with black static. The image was warming up. A close-up on a clear green iris, the eye darting about slightly. Yoongi could see the serial number in the corner of it.

Then, a clear muffled voice.

_Reaction test … number two. Victory AND Euphoria. Please respond when you see the prompt._

A short pause. Then, a faint female voice repeating the same words.

_You’re at a horse racing game, and people are betting on the winning horse. One of the riders is beating his horse with a riding crop. You wait for your husband to come back from the snack stand with drinks._

Silence.

The female voice again. _I would wait for him to come back. If he doesn’t come back, I would go and look for him._

Yoongi recognised it immediately, the omission of that particular first point in the sentence because she was focusing on the second part of it.

More static noise. A second reaction test.

_Reaction test number three. Lost AND Isolation. Please respond when you see the prompt._

The screen flickered out. Jungeun retrieved the orb from the reader and laid it back into the drawer.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked, shutting it with a click.

“We don’t know if she passed the test.”

“I can assure you that she did.” Jungeun stayed where she was for a beat, then moved to the door. “Otherwise she wouldn’t have survived long enough for us to get this memory sample.”

“How does that work?”

“A scheduled visit to a designer,” she said, showing him out. “As inconspicuous as they are, Wallace sees them as powerful assets. We retain those which we deem useful.” She was walking ahead of him again, back down the corridor. “Memories are the most important and convenient way of keeping our orders in check before they're shipped out.”

“Who was the man doing the questioning?”

“An officer,” she quickly replied. “Ersatz. He was a good one, but I doubt he’s still in service.”

They descended the steps.

“May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve heard about the Datura virus. How serious is it?”

Her facial expression registered wariness; immediately the tone became less conversational, more formal.

“Wallace has been doing their best to keep the situation under control. We can assure you that this will not compromise the memory faculties of our new models.” She paused. He looked at her face, and it was eerily void of emotion. “I am sorry, but I cannot divulge any further information on this.”

They went back down to the hall. Heejin was waiting by the table, hands clasped together.

“You have an appointment,” she said, rather tensely. “The client is waiting on Floor Four.”

The owl flew off Jungeun’s shoulder and settled on a brass perch high above them, near one of the beams above the entrance. Yoongi stared at it.

“Thank you.” Jungeun smiled at the both of them and went out.

Then Heejin was looking up at the owl.

“Is it real?” Yoongi asked after a while.

“Yes.”

“What does it do?”

“Nothing. It’s her pet. She’s trying to breed it with another live one, but she hasn’t found a match yet.”

Heejin walked back to her table. There was a stack of clear data cards in a box under the screen. 

“She said something about an officer called Ersatz,” Yoongi said. “I’d like to find him.”

Heejin turned back, regarding him with a steady, eager look.

“Was he one of our products?”

“I don’t think so.”

She pulled up a new screen, dragging it to the front.

“A partnered client, then. We have many of them,” she said. “Which year?”

“Try 2018 to 2020.”

She continued searching. Yoongi walked over to take a look. The numbers were flashing by so quickly he couldn’t read any of them.

She hit pause on a particular string.

“Ersatz Chien. EZ0034. Former employee at the police department. Replicant Detection Division.”

“That should be the one.”

A standard biography page, with an old photograph.

“Last status update. He retired from service in 2040.” She paused. “Junon Nursing Home. That’s not here. Hang on -” she dragged up a new screen, “- I can do a quick search.”

She keyed in the address on a satellite tracking web application. The place was in a retirement village. Another suburban colony with a bright yellow meadow in the centre of it.

“A coincidence,” Heejin said, smiling. “Colony 2040. He must have planned it.”

\---

Yoongi was speeding back out of the border into the highway, heading for Colony 2040. It took another couple of hours before he could locate the main road. The retirement home was the centerpiece of the gloomy town, a quaint green building with a small synthetic garden plot in front, benches and a fitness corner.

He went on the premise of visiting as an interviewer, and was led up to a small plain room with a bed and a table. An old man, sitting at the window.

“Sir,” the staff who had brought him up said. “You have a visitor.”

Ersatz turned around slowly. He had a craggy, wizened face with crow’s feet near his eyes, aged, no doubt, seeing all those liver spots on his arms. But he still had that sense of alertness about him, sizing up the two people who’d entered his private space.

It didn’t have many embellishments about it - a small medicine tray by the bed with a blister of pills, a glass of water with a spoon in it. The curtains at the window were thin and gauzy, faded blue. A small family photograph hanging on the wall opposite the bed.

“What’s he here for?”

“An interview,” Yoongi ventured. “I was referred to you by Wallace.”

“Wallace.” Ersatz got up heavily from the chair and went to the bed. “Wallace. I haven’t heard that name in a damned long time.”

The staff retreated out of the room.

“What’s this interview about?” Ersatz asked, reaching for the glass of water. His eyes were terribly blue for a human. Yoongi closed the door and went further in, stopping a short distance from the bed.

“We’re trying to locate an old Nexus 3.”

Ersatz was swallowing down the water, his eyes widening behind the glass. He put it down, wiping at his mouth with the sleeve of his pyjama shirt.

“They’re all dead already, no?”

Yoongi couldn’t hold back the laugh that escaped him. “This one sure as hell is.”

“I wouldn’t remember my old cases.”

“Maybe if I gave you a description of it.”

“Go ahead.”

Yoongi unfolded the report.

“You caught her at the Stargate. Physical appearance of a young woman in her late 20s or early 30s. Dark-haired.” He paused, looking up at Ersatz to check his reaction. There was nothing. He went on. “She passed VK.”

“Passed VK.” Ersatz was nodding. “Not many I know who did.”

“It was a special model.” Yoongi turned the page over. “Appears to have lived a long life. Longer than most.”

A dull silence. Ersatz was stirring something into his water glass from a tub of glucose solution.

“You’re talking about Sumire,” he finally said. “That’s what she called herself, at least. Young lass. Sharp for an outdated model. I had to let her go.”

“Did you keep track of her after that?”

“... Yes.”

“What happened?”

“She was - unremarkable.” Ersatz placed the tub back on the side table. “I heard she got together with another guy. They escaped to the countryside.”

“Do you know when she died?”

“No.” Ersatz glanced at him. “Enlighten me. You’re the one from big old Wallace, aren’t you?”

“The data was wiped out.”

“We gave up on tracking her after she left the city,” Ersatz continued after a while. “These things - if they benefit someone else, it’s good enough to let them be. They’re not our problem anymore.”

Yoongi watched him drain the glass in silence.

“So you wouldn’t know how I can contact the man she escaped with.”

Ersatz settled back against his pillows. Something like melancholia played on his features.

“You’re chasing this thing like a detective.” Yoongi didn’t respond. “You think there’s a rationality behind everything that your suspects do.”

Ersatz pulled his blanket up to his belly, crossed his hands on top of it.

“I didn’t understand it at first either. We were both getting along so well.” Ersatz let out a feather-light exhale. “Sometimes people just run away for no reason. They don’t want to be found. Nobody knows where they go.”

“But you knew that she left. You paid enough attention to notice.”

“The test was inconclusive. I marked it as a pass because I didn’t know what else to do with her. I couldn’t do that to her. She looked so fearful. Afraid … of me.”

The curtains were moving in the breeze. Outside, the street was blank and monochrome.

“Ignorance,” Ersatz was saying. “That’s what they’re all looking for, that’s what they think they’ll find by running away. It’s a means of survival.”

\---

The report to Mr Yeung that night was a short one. Yoongi sat in the car, stopped right next to the office block. He had no intention of going into the office for a one-on-one conversation.

“I passed the report to Yeojin,” Yoongi said after the voicemail tone. “And something from an old officer who tested her. Her name was Sumire. She ran away, that’s why they didn’t keep her on the records anymore. I suspect Citadel might have been the guy. She probably died before him and he buried her in his front yard.”

Then he drove back to his apartment. He’d been out for eight hours and it was three in the afternoon. At his door, the remnants of the outlines that couldn’t be removed. He could still see the numbers there.

Jungkook was leaning out at the window, looking around. Yoongi locked the door behind him.

“I saw the blimp,” Jungkook said, without turning back to look at him. “My face isn’t there anymore.”

Yoongi stayed where he was.

“I said, my face isn’t on the wanted ad anymore.”

“I told them to remove it.” Yoongi came in and dropped his bag on the table.

“It doesn’t feel good to be dead,” Jungkook said. There was that little studied, simmering edge to his voice. “I don’t like it.”

“It’s the best I could do,” Yoongi said stonily, walking up to where he was. “At least Wallace isn’t going to be searching for you anymore.”

Jungkook came back and sat down on the sofa, his shoes and socks kicked off and lying by the side. One of Yoongi’s old music equipment magazines was open on the table, a tall glass of juice next to it.

“We’ll try to check the records,” Yoongi said, clearing the table. “You can come along. I’m going after a bunch of them in the underground city later. They’ve got that virus that Hyunjin was talking about.”

Jungkook watched him return the magazine to the bookshelf.

“So it’s true?” he said.

Yoongi rearranged the stack. “My superior says it is.”

Jungkook watched him, silent.

“Were you reading the whole day?” Yoongi commented, trying to ease Jungkook out of that tense mood. He stacked the magazines. “Replicants aren’t particularly known for liking to read things. I’m surprised.”

“- Do you remember what I said that day about the electric mouse?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s something else I discovered on the bottom of it -” Jungkook lifted the thing up for Yoongi to see, “- there's a date scratched into the motor at the bottom. November 13, 2028. I missed it on that day.”

He paused, and his voice became nervous.

“I think that memory designer checked me more than she should have.”

Yoongi turned around. “What do you mean?”

“I could tell she was looking for something else.” He paused. “After that first recall.”

“How so?”

“I started to remember things that …” Jungkook stared at the table. “Things that I haven’t seen before. It was like she was digging into my subconscious. And then once you remember it, it feels so real and you wonder why you never remembered it in the first place.”

“So what were those things?”

Jungkook gave him a wary look. “One of them has got to do with those numbers on your door.”

Yoongi didn’t quite understand.

“The unit number?”

“No, the one you told me to clean off.” Jungkook paused. “1057.”

Yoongi held his steady gaze.

“I saw a metal tag in my hands,” Jungkook said. “Someone was telling me to keep it. There were those numbers carved into it.”

For a brief moment, Yoongi wondered if he was lying. But he hadn’t recalled seeing Olivia’s necklace anywhere on her when they visited on the first day. He still had the tag from Sumire’s urn dangling in the car.

“What’s that even supposed to mean,” he murmured, even though he didn’t expect Jungkook to reply.

“Maybe someone’s looking for me.” Jungkook swallowed thickly. “That doesn’t feel right either.”

The sound of a car alarm went off somewhere below on the road.

Jungkook paused and took a deep breath. “I don’t think all my memories are real. There were some which she didn’t probe into. I just don’t get why I didn’t remember it earlier.”

“What else did she look through?”

“My time at the facility, mostly. Those are real. I have scars from then. She also looked through my memories of people.”

“Did you remember any parent figures?”

“No one that I recognise. Some faces came to me in flashes, but I don’t know any of them. Probably a person I saw in passing.”

Yoongi contemplated another visit, but wondered if it was worth it. He stared out at the blotted blue light falling on his wall from outside.

“We can try to check for November 13th in the police archives tomorrow,” he finally said. “That’s about as much as I can do for now.”

“What do you honestly think?”

Yoongi sat down next to him on the couch, hunched over with elbows pressed on his knees.

“Olivia thinks that everyone’s leaving because of the virus breakout.” He looked at the floor, then turned to Jungkook. “Was that the other reason you didn’t want to tell me that morning?”

“Wouldn’t you do that too?”

“You’d rather be killed by a bounty hunter than a virus.”

“A hunter is faster.”

Jungkook was slouched against the backrest. They stared at each other in the darkness.

“You didn’t have to lie to me.”

“I was nervous at that time,” Jungkook admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to end my life before I even found out what it really was worth.”

“You told me you weren’t afraid of dying.”

“Because you looked scared too.” Jungkook sounded tired. “Why did you make me come along, then?”

“I wanted -” Yoongi stopped himself before he could say anything silly. “I didn’t know what to do with you.”

“I was one of your targets. You didn’t have to run the test on me, but you did.”

Yoongi kept quiet.

“Would you let me stay here, then?”

“Of course.”

There was a long and sombre silence.

“Look at it this way.” Yoongi sighed. “If you are a replicant, we’ll know soon. If not, you’ll continue to live.”

The shadows on the wall looked fuzzy. Even Jungkook himself, his hunched figure getting worn at the edges, blending into the dark walls of the apartment.

“We can wait it out,” Yoongi added, finding enough emotion and tact to say something he hoped sounded comforting. “I’ll wait with you.”

\---

Later, he remembered to make a copy of Yves’s old subway station map, carefully scanning it in segments on the Esper. Once he had a full copy, he resized that to an A4 sized sheet and printed the whole thing out.

Jungkook watched him work.

“What’s that for?”

“The murderer I asked you to help me find,” he said. “She’s in one of these stations but she keeps moving around, so I’ll have to find a way to corner her.”

“Looks like you’re making good progress.”

“I hope so.”

Jungkook leaned down slightly. “Am I still part of the plan?”

“Of course. Your life is more important now, though. Don’t worry about that.”

Yoongi made japchae for supper. A simple thing in a frying pan, two plates on the coffee table.

They ate quietly, this new mood of importance to the air in the apartment. Like the feeling of having survived a candlelight vigil, coming out red-eyed and numb to all sensation but still alive.

He’d sloshed through a few cans of makgeolli, which were toppled on the table. The stuff was cold and bittersweet but made him feel more alive than anything else, this thick static building up along his skin.

He straightened up and leaned back against the couch, chewing the last of his food in silence.

“So,” he suddenly asked, “what do you like?”

Jungkook lifted his head to peer guardedly at him, chopsticks still holding a few strands of noodles and synthetic meat.

“What?”

“Do you enjoy doing anything?” Yoongi paused. “What do you do in your downtime?”

Jungkook scraped at his plate, chewing for a long time.

“Being free is a good thing,” he said, mouth full.

“That’s very abstract.” Yoongi chuckled, a quiet sound. “What else?”

“Watching sunsets.”

“There isn’t a sun here.” Yoongi was picking at lint on the couch armrest. “Something else.”

“What are you trying to do?”

“Just getting to know you better.”

“I can tell you about life in the facilities.” Jungkook gave him an odd smile. “That’ll sober you right up.”

Yoongi rested his head in his hand. “What, you don’t like it when I’m trying to be nice?”

“It’s weird. A little cute too.”

“I’m sorry, then. Tell me about all that. Life in the facilities, or whatever.”

“Do you get like that when you’re drunk?”

“No.”

“That means yes.” Jungkook smiled at him. “You can be funny when you want to, you know.”

“You seem to like it.”

Jungkook shifted slightly closer. His voice became soft, almost breathy.

“Can you give me the sun?”

Yoongi gave a short laugh, then stopped like he’d been shocked back to attention. Their eyes met for a long and tense moment before he pulled his gaze away.

“No,” he said with another laugh, this one too forced.

Jungkook pushed his shoulder slightly, amused. “What can you do, then?”

“Temporary food and lodging.”

Jungkook laughed, hit his shoulder. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Don’t be silly. There’s nothing else for you to find here.”

Yoongi shut his eyes and yawned, feigning sleep. They sat like that for a while, hearing nothing but small sounds of the apartment settling, the wind whistling through gaps in the windows.

After a while, Jungkook turned and gently tapped Yoongi’s arm.

He cracked one eye open. “Hm?”

“Can you play the piano?”

Yoongi sat up slowly to look at the old instrument sitting on the other side of the room.

“Do you want to hear it?” he said, smiling slightly. “I haven’t played in a while.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

So Yoongi went and seated himself a little clumsily at the seat, opening the piano lid. He had no score sheets left; the rough patch had left him with little time to care about collecting any of those.

He had learned one by heart, though. Somewhere long ago, he couldn’t remember who had taught him how to play.

When he started, it was broken and disjointed, a horrible noise. Some of the keys didn’t work anymore and pounding on them left a hollow sound of ivory on wood. He found himself laughing like an idiot at intervals, when he got a note wrong, or when the pace got too slow and jumbled, and it just sounded like a cat walking across the keys.

But Jungkook was sitting there, listening in silence. Yoongi didn’t dare to look at his face, not while he was doing something he’d never done before in this sad dump of an apartment.

If this was the last song Jungkook would ever hear before his time was up, he wanted to make it a decent one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [yeah](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6kSQKVdGWEE)


	7. bloodsporting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- the body count goes up in this one  
> \- emotional confusion

Late afternoon the next day, when the thunderclouds had gathered in thick grey swathes in the sky, the drones buzzing out warnings of later flash floods. Yoongi was in the archive room again.

It was mostly quiet inside, just the sound of the air-conditioning unit above him, water dripping down from the coolant into a spot on the floor.

The Denaprint machine was located in a separate booth within the archive room, a small cordoned-off section of its own with an old-design interface. He snuck Jungkook into the elevator when he was sure that no one was in the lounge area. The receptionist at the lobby on level one didn’t take much notice of them.

Hardly anyone came in here to search for records, anyway.

He powered up the monitor and sat back on the low barstool, waiting. Jungkook was examining the wires and build of the back machinery with the curiosity of a small child studying a new toy.

“I’ve seen a model like this before,” he said, after a while. “They used this in the facility.”

“Huh. Thought Wallace would’ve invested in something newer.” Yoongi folded his arms. “I hope this thing has a search function.”

“What if it doesn’t?” Jungkook said, scooting over to stand next to him.

Yoongi was still waiting, hand tapping impatiently on the side of the screen.

“Then I’ll call one of the tech operators in, and you’ll have to hide.”

Jungkook sharply huffed through his nose in amusement, but said nothing.

He was turning the two dials on either side, rolling through the dates of registered replicant records until he reached 2045. The file was loading up its sub-folders.

By name, alone. He carefully keyed Jungkook’s incept date into the controls and hit search.

A long string of names. A few hundred records in total. Yoongi pulled up a sub-filter and searched by name.

A few entries showed up. Six in total. He decided to go through each one individually. Four were already past their expiry date, marked with a cross. Two were still in operation. One had an exclamation mark next to it.

“This must be you,” Yoongi whispered. He pulled up the record. Nothing much, just a simple DNA string and an incept date. The status was marked PENDING.

He tried searching the human records by birth date instead, forgoing the audio function and typing out the full thing on the faded keyboard below.

A long list of serial numbers appeared, chains of ACTG codes next to each of them. He scrolled down. Hundreds of thousands of entries with no names attached to them, all born on November the 13th, 2028. No distinction by location or type. Probably sums of raw data gathered from suburban colonies and cities. Maybe even off-world colonies, the spaceships.

“Arranged by DNA …” Yoongi murmured. “I can’t read all of this.”

“Can I try?” Jungkook said, leaning in to look at the screen.

Yoongi didn’t say anything, just slipped off the stool and let Jungkook take the controls. He stood by and watched. Jungkook gave him an apprehensive look, before turning back to the screen. He began rotating the dials - slowly at first, then faster. Yoongi watched the scattering of white letters and numbers turn into a blur on the screen.

Minutes passed. Jungkook suddenly stopped scrolling.

“This display gives me a headache,” he said, rubbing at his eyes and looking for the brightness setting.

“Can you actually read all of that, or are you just skimming?”

“I’m reading,” Jungkook said, a small grin on his face. “Just that it saps a lot of concentration.”

“Do you want me to call a tech assistant in?”

“No.”

Another ten minutes. Yoongi kept throwing glances at the door at the slightest sound. Sometimes it was just the room settling.

And then, a small relieved sound from Jungkook, a hand beckoning him to look. Yoongi looked. On screen, two chains of DNA placed one on top of the other.

“I found two people born on that date.” Jungkook pointed. “But their sequences are exactly the same.”

“The same sequence?” Yoongi frowned and reached for the controls. “That’s not possible.”

Jungkook moved off the chair, letting him sit down properly to check. Yoongi pulled up the sequences, both from humans. They matched. The first entry was a birth record of a human boy, tracked to an unnamed orphanage. The second one was a human girl, also tracked to an unnamed orphanage. She was dead.

“It can’t be. Two different people, same DNA sequencing,” Yoongi said. He hit the print button to get a copy of the results. “One of them’s a copy.”

Jungkook had stayed very still, hands touching both sides of the screen like he was handling something very fragile.

Yoongi took the printout and gave it a cursory glance to make sure everything was in order.

“We still don’t know which orphanage they came from.” He tried to give Jungkook a reassuring smile. “But if you want your explanation, it may be there.”

\---

They went to Taehyung’s garage later in the morning, agreeing to meet Yves. The place was empty when he got there. She was the only one waiting outside. No bike or dog to be seen, just a new shotgun on her back.

“Where are we going today?” she asked, getting in at the back.

“We’ll be stuck down here,” Yoongi said, rubbing at his nose. “I have four new ones on the hit list.”

“Another four?” she slammed the door shut. “What’s with the sudden surge in targets?”

“Some kind of virus,” Yoongi said, turning around to face her. “It came from Wallace.”

He was pulling away from the kerb. “I have information that they’re down in the Substation. Four entertainer models, ninth-generation. I just need somewhere to begin.”

Silence.

“Any ideas?” Yoongi said. “I don’t really know this place.”

“You said entertainer models?”

“Yes.”

“Any specific job?”

“They didn’t tell me.”

“For starters, I guess you can try a few big places they would’ve probably heard of,” Yves began, “- Broadway, Biennale Alley, Bibi’s.” She paused. “Sector Four. Lots of them there. Ever heard of Taffey Lewis and his snake pit?”

Yoongi shook his head slowly.

“I’ll say Broadway first. The front-of-house. We can ask them for a list of visitors.”

They navigated the narrow, cramped roads, Yoongi constantly checking the GPS. The car had been splattered with mud and a heavy coat of dust from his drive to and back from Wallace. He hadn’t bothered to clean any of it off.

Along the way, deteriorating tenement units covered in graffiti, posters advertising nightmarish freak shows and strip clubs, telephone numbers of call girls. The electrical cables were strung up along the high flat ceilings of the hollowed-out caves, forming a messy web of vein-like lines. The road dipped and rose, sometimes branching out into wide cobblestoned paths, other times slipping into narrow alleys enough for only one car to pass through at a time.

They found Broadway, driving under the neon showers and dipping roads, stopping by the kerb. They got out and headed for the entrance.

“It wouldn’t be open now, would it?” Jungkook said, hanging back to look at the lightbox outside. There were listings for a few matinees, more night shows. The club in front closed at dawn. “Seems quiet.”

“We can ask the support staff. Now would be a good time to get them.” Yves said. “They won’t be busy.”

“Or we can come again in the evening.”

Yves had her hand placed on the door handle. She looked between Jungkook and Yoongi.

“So?”

“What were the other places you recommended looking in?”

“Biennale alley has a lot of good hiding places.”

“Okay.” Yoongi took the photograph copies out of his pocket, flipping them back and forth like he was fanning the air. “I’ll go back to that little bookshop Hoseok told me about. The kid there seems like he’ll talk.”

Yoongi left the car by the roadside and went into the shop, the bells on the door ringing. The young boy was there as usual, biting on one of his fingernails, a bobble-headed hula doll on the cash register.

Yoongi came up to him, holding out the photographs.

“Are you busy?” he asked.

The boy had sunk back onto his stool. He shook his head. The old brown light gave more shadows to his eyebags, the sunken sockets in his head.

“Are - are you looking for the doc again?”

“No.” Yoongi held the photos out. “Can you take a look at these pictures?”

The boy scraped his stool forward and craned his neck to have a look.

“Have you seen any of them before?”

A minute passed.

“Looks like they’d eat raw people. Maybe try the chopper-wielders,” he said slowly. “Butcher’s basement.”

“Where?”

“Two streets down. Meat shop.” He pointed at the photographs. “They might have ordered something there.”

The meat shop didn’t look very convincing. Yoongi stopped the car on the opposite side of the street and they sat inside, watching the fat man with a bloody apron skulk about in front, hanging out pieces of soggy cheesecloth on meat hooks.

“Doesn’t look like a typical food market to me.”

“You might get chopped up into sausage filling,” Yves added. “All these kinds of businesses always have to operate in basements. Blood thieves, ever heard of them?”

Jungkook was leaning forward to look past Yoongi’s profile at the store.

“I’d have thought we were looking for the singing types,” Yoongi said. “I’d have expected to find those on some performance line-up.”

“They might have chosen to avoid Broadway,” Yves pointed out. “You told me they were hiding. No reason for them to operate in the big entertainment establishments around here.”

Yoongi was studying the photos.

“My superior told me they worked as a unit.”

“They could have split up.”

“Would they do that?”

Yves shook her head, not knowing.

“Suppose they came here to die …” Yoongi trailed off, collecting the photographs into a stack. “Hold on.”

He got out of the car.

The man with the bloody apron had gone back in, but the shop was small, full of various things, neon-soaked and smelling of something between sleaze and blood. The dark ceiling beams were wrapped with tensile objects, too dark and stretched for anyone to make out what they were. Yoongi found a flat section of wall to stand against and waited there for someone to show up.

Someone did, eventually. A woman with a mink coat staggered up from a staircase somewhere at the back of the house. She hardly noticed Yoongi, but bumped into the door on the way out and dropped something, which she came back to retrieve. Then she saw him standing there.

Her pupils were blown, something powdery still on her lips, red hair messy and wet.

“You waiting?” she snapped, then grabbed onto the doorframe to steady herself.

“Where’s the boss?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

Yoongi didn’t answer. Someone else was coming up the stairs. He was waiting for bloody apron man to come at him with a chopper. The photos were getting damp, clutched in his palm.

“Who runs this place?” Yoongi asked her. She just stared at him. The other person came out, a nasty-looking bald fellow with no shirt and a long inky blot of a tattoo on his left arm.

“Mariette,” he said, pushing the woman slightly. “Go home.”

Yoongi didn’t move.

“ _Go home_.”

She stalled for a while, scowling at something invisible in front of her, but was eventually nudged out. The man turned to Yoongi.

“You got a problem, mister?”

“Is the owner around?”

“No.”

“Might you have seen any of these people before?” Yoongi held the photos and his license out. The man stared at them, then at his face, only more closely this time. He scratched at his face with a scarred hand.

“Can’t see.”

“There’s better lighting outside.”

So they moved out onto the sidewalk, under the glow of the red tube lights. The man wasn’t making much of an effort. His mind seemed like it was somewhere else. Either drugs or a fresh carton of organs.

“Fake blood,” he said.

Yoongi looked up at him intently, waiting for some kind of explanation.

“You can’t tell the owner I’ve been ratting out on the business.”

“I won’t.”

The man wiped at his lips, a little shifty-eyed.

“They wanted fake blood. One of those guys had hair whiter than my grandma’s.” He kept pausing and looking around every few words. “Ordered a few litres of blood for a show. Four of them, ain’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah. Ordered fake blood but we didn’t have any, so they settled for the real deal. Fresh, from the skinning machine.”

“You’re sure it was these people?”

He pointed at one of the photos. “They called him Prospero, or something like that.”

“Did they say where they were going after that?”

“Getting laid. At Baby’s-something.”

Yoongi thanked him and went back to the car.

“Any luck?” Yves asked, once he’d gotten in.

“They came here for supplies, then they went to that Bibi’s place you mentioned.” He pulled the winker and moved out. “I think we’d better go there instead.”

Bibi’s didn’t have a name sign attached anywhere. It was an open-air roadside bar, the neon lights soaking everyone in teal-coloured light. Small round tables only had standing space around them, and several had one or two people talking over drinks. 

He went in with Yves. They moved through the club, along the wall with the glowing floor-to-ceiling vending machines, basking in their artificial light.

“You got a person in mind?” Yoongi asked her, surveying the place. “Anyone we can start out from?”

“The brothel’s behind there. We can find the mama-san.”

It was a big place, hard to miss from both the sight and the sounds of the rooms behind. Fresh-faced workers waited outside, along the frosted glass walls where silhouettes were visible from behind, pressed up against the walls.

There was a wide alley in the middle of it all for people to walk through, to enter the building. They went there, and the closer they went the louder the moaning and grunting got. Some of them were pressed so close to the frosted glass that he could see everything from outside.

The foyer behind that was dark, filled with tall-backed booths, lit up in too much red with a gnarly green and red neon fixture that read SINPOPO. A tall, plump lady in too many thick layers of shawls wrapped around her body like cobras was sitting on a wheelchair, talking to a group of people in sparkly clothes huddled together inside one of the booths.

Yves beckoned for Yoongi to walk over with her. They slowed down as they reached the booth, waited there in the shadows for someone to notice them.

Someone did. One of the young boys stopped talking and looked in their direction. Everyone else at the booth followed his gaze. An audible hush fell over the table.

The mama-san pushed herself away from the table.

“May I help you?” she asked. Yoongi closed the distance between them and held the photos and his license out to her.

“I’m looking for these people. Someone told me they came here last week.”

Silence. The woman didn’t bother to look closely at the photos. She kept staring at the two of them as he spoke.

“I don’t handle the customers,” she finally said, then turned and waved one of the hostesses over.

“Ruyi, show them around, will you? If anyone had seen these people, tell them ... But just don’t bring trouble to my business.”

The lady came up to them on heels that were too tall for her, wearing an ill-fitting golden dress which she kept pulling down. The mama-san gave her a once-over and wheeled herself back to the booth.

Yoongi tried not to look at her scared face when he talked to her. “I’m searching for these people. They might have dropped by the club a few weeks ago.”

Ruyi wobbled over to stand between him and Yves, getting a better look at the photo.

“Are - are they performers?”

“Very likely. They ordered blood from an organ hunter store. Remember anything like that?”

Ruyi led them to a long row of red-carpeted backrooms, all the doors locked, with several pairs of shoes outside each one. She checked one of the doors and knocked quietly.

A guy came out. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, had a long messy tattoo snaking down from his chest to his arm and lots of silver on his ears. Music was pounding away inside the room that he came out from.

Ruyi turned to Yoongi. “He’s looking for one of those people who brought the bottles of fake blood to your room.”

The guy moved out slightly, leaned close to examine the photo. His eyes widened and he made an expression that Yoongi couldn’t decipher. Then he turned back to the room and called someone out.

A petite silver-haired girl in a thick purple fur coat and nothing else came to the door, stood beside him with her hand on her hip. The guy leaned down to whisper something in her ear and she listened, confused, before grinning.

“You guys come here often?” she said to them.

Yoongi shook his head, not really understanding.

“We painted each other with the stuff while we did it. Most fun thing, all that metallic slick and jizz. I bet they ate some too.”

The guy with the messy tattoo leaned against the door. His earrings rattled and jingled with the movement. “So what are they?”

Yves couldn’t take her eyes off the girl, but she spoke up before Yoongi could reply.

“Felons. Maybe performers, but we’re not sure.”

“Then they will go to Broadway.” Silver-hair stopped to chew on her bottom lip. “All the dancers and freak shows go to Broadway.”

They arrived in the middle of ticketing for an afternoon show. The signs were illuminated, yellow-bulbed letters against red. A steady stream of people had formed outside, entering through the double doors.

“You guys can hang around here,” Yoongi said, looking about the front landing. “Jimin doesn’t have a show, does he?”

Yves was gazing up at the lightbox.

“Princess Ririko, scheduled for a night slot. Tickets selling fast. Unless you’re intending to stay here till eight, then, no.”

“I seriously wonder if they take notes of guest names.”

“Maybe not guest names,” Yves said, tugging at her coat sleeves. “You can search for performers. They’re supposed to be singers and all. Maybe they’re a dance troupe.”

“Dance troupe,” Yoongi echoed. Then he was staring at the doors. “Front, or back?”

“Front-of-house first,” Yves said. “If they tell you it’s at the back, I can cover the entrance for you.”

“So you’ll stay here?”

“I don’t mind. It stinks inside there, anyway.” She smiled and slung the shotgun over her back. “I brought a real one this time.”

Yoongi and Jungkook went in. The place wasn’t too crowded yet, lights were still switched on here and there, like a movie theatre still open for seating before a show was about to begin. There were already people milling about at the bar in front, a fancy golden-stacked structure with a long glass rack of spirit and alcohol bottles. A giant naked crystal ballerina which was the centrepiece of the concert hall, suspended like a chandelier above the bar itself.

The stage was a tall blue cuboid frame, similar to the one that he’d seen Jimin on.

Jungkook poked his shoulder.

“The front-of-house,” he said softly. “It’s there.”

They walked over. A few bouncers near the entrance, some people queuing up at the booth. There was a lady inside with glittery pink hair, a rolled cigar in her mouth. Yoongi went over and joined the queue.

“Can you do something, Jungkook?” he said, turning around. “Check out the exits on all sides of the venue. Try to estimate how many exit points there are for each section of floor standing.”

“Now?”

“Yes. You don’t need to spend too much time doing it. Just get a rough idea of where they are.”

Jungkook turned and started down the periphery of the hall, slinking past groups of people huddled together. For his height, he was doing a good job of staying inconspicuous. Yoongi couldn’t help smiling, watching him for a while.

The line moved forward.

When he got to the front, the girl was already working the ticket printer. She looked up through the little glass window, expecting him to ask for a price. He could smell the smoke out here.

“Do you have a list of performances for tonight?”

She gave him a silent stare, then grabbed a brochure from a stack by the side of her table and slid it over the counter towards him.

“See for yourself,” she said, never taking the cigar out of her mouth.

Yoongi stepped aside and stood next to the booth while the queue continued to move. It was a standard glossy print out, nothing very excessive. Permanent acts were all listed on the front. The overleaf was a weekly schedule, which he checked for that evening.

A DJ he’d never heard of, two consecutive bunraku plays taking place in the back wing, a getai stage and another dance troupe doing the opening act. Ririko’s show came after eight. He tucked the brochure into his pocket and waited until there was a lull in the queue, going back to the booth to ask the girl.

She eyed him doubtfully, still saying nothing.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” he said. “Would you happen to have a list of the performers?”

She watched him for a few seconds. “I just gave it to you.”

“No, like, the names of the individual performers.” He took the brochure out. “There’s an unnamed dance troupe doing the opening act here but I’d like to know who’s on it.”

“That’s confidential information.”

Yoongi looked around, thinking.

“I’m looking for an old friend who may be performing here.”

“That doesn’t make a difference, dear,” she was flicking ash into a seashell-shaped dish on the desk. “I can’t help you either way. Are you going to buy a ticket or not?”

Yoongi took one of the photographs out.

“Have you seen him before?”

The girl gave it a passing glance.

“No,” she said, exhaling smoke slowly. Yoongi slid the photograph off the counter.

There was too much glitter on her hair, on her eyelids. Every time her head moved it reflected millions of pinprick lights back at him.

“Do you need anything else?”

“No,” he said, already moving away. “Thank you.”

Yoongi decided to try the bar. Maybe order a drink and ask the bartender something about the performers.

There were a few people sitting around on the stools, hunched over their own drinks. Most of them simply ordered, took their order and went off elsewhere to mingle.

His eyes went over the selection of strange flavours - a lot of them were cuisines of tropical dishes with western monikers attached to them, like the _Tom Yam Screwdriver_ , some chilli and orange juice concoction. He stared at the chalk drawings for a while and decided on yogurt soju.

It came in a tall glass with black ice cubes. _Green grape original_ , the bartender said with a flourish. She was a young girl with coloured hair tied up in a ponytail and opal earrings.

She was busy. _No time to talk_ , she seemed to say with her eyes, while her hands were busy with metal shakers and cooking torches. There was a large trough of dry ice behind the counter near where he was sitting, and the smoke kept continually pouring out of it.

Yoongi waited, trying to pace out how fast he was downing the drink. There would be time to talk soon. He watched her work, ready to start asking questions at the earliest opportunity.

The idle stream of blank thoughts was broken by the sound of someone sliding into the stool next to him. Some lady in a red qipao, porcelain barrettes in her hair.

There were many empty stools along the length of the bar. No reason why she had to sit next to him. Yoongi slid off his stool and moved a short distance away.

She turned her head to follow his direction, and he knew he was being targeted.

“I just want to talk to you,” she said, in a voice so cloying and sweet that he suddenly felt a bit sorry. But he stayed where he was, hand clamped tight around the glass.

The bartender was talking to someone else now. He’d missed his chance. So he came up with a list of questions in his mind that he could ask the lady, who was walking over to him with languid slowness. She set her drink down in the space next to his, and he caught a glimpse of pink nail polish before she finally adjusted herself comfortably on the seat.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she had already said something, so he shut it.

“You’re the youngest-looking guy here,” she said. “Sorry it had to be you.” She didn’t sound sorry at all.

“When’s the next performance?” he asked, forcing himself to look in her direction. Her eyes were unnaturally green, hidden behind coloured contacts.

She rested her cheek against her hand, elbow on the counter. “Anytime you want.”

“I’m talking about the one on the stage.”

She turned to look. “Oh, probably in half an hour. They always start late, anyway.”

They watched people order their drinks.

“You’re awfully quiet,” she said, after taking a few deer-like sips of her cocktail. It was a dark red thing, with a lemon in the side. “What are you thinking about, hm?”

“Nothing.”

“You can’t be thinking about nothing, silly. Are you lonely?”

“No.”

“Why’d you come here by yourself, then?”

He didn’t reply.

“I’m bored.” She stretched, resting one hand on his shoulder. She kept her hand there, and he didn’t make any effort to shrug it off. “Do you wanna take a walk?”

“No.” He took a drink and put the glass down. “I’m tired.”

She continued to persist. “You’re tired. I know something that might make you feel better.” A light shoulder squeeze, her other hand resting on the edge of her lap, dangerously close to his.

Yoongi fished the brochure out and placed it flat on the counter. She took great interest in this sudden show of initiative, leaning closer to look at it.

“What’s this?”

“The performance schedules.” He pointed at the unnamed dance troupe. “Do you know their name?”

“No. I don’t recognise any performers here.”

“Do you know _anyone_ here?”

“The bartenders. I also have some friends back there, if you want to ask them.”

Yoongi rubbed at his face.

“Okay,” he said, watching her face for any slight change in expression, “does the number 1057 mean anything to you?”

She gazed back at him for a few seconds.

“No. Why?”

“RFM,” he said, shrugging her hand off him and leaning away. “Halfaxa.”

She went back to that chin-in-hand pose again, tapping her nails on the counter. “Replicant Freedom Movement,” she finally said, relishing the consonants of the word like it was some expensive champagne name. “I don’t know what the other one is.”

“What do you know about the first one?”

“Some of my doxies are members.” A secretive grin. “But we can’t tell you out here. That’d be breaking the code.”

He didn’t want to go there, so he gave it up. “No. Just tell me what it’s all about.”

“It’s a movement. Many people here are part of it.” She fiddled with the lemon slice in her glass and sighed. “You’re one of those, aren’t you.”

“One of what?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

She took another swallow of her cocktail, and he could see the lipstick stains in the condensation.

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, dabbing slightly at the corner of her mouth with a finger.

“No. How would I know if you’re a replicant?”

“You have your ways, don’t you?” Eyes glittering, she started to lean in. “Why don’t you check under my eye and find out?”

He held the brochure up to her face, blocking her advance. “What does 1057 mean?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Fine.” Yoongi rapidly polished off his drink. “I’ll believe you. Then forget you ever talked to me.”

She toyed with the hem of her qipao. “Or what?”

He placed the empty glass down and got off the stool.

“I'll let you think about it.”

Jungkook was waiting for him outside, telling Yves about something. Yoongi pushed out of the place soon enough to catch some of what she was saying.

“- it’s really difficult.”

Jungkook was about to reply with something, but stopped when he saw Yoongi approach.

“Did you find anything?” Yves said. She’d bought a martini with a tiny paper umbrella decoration and was sipping on it.

“Just a list of shows.” He produced the folded brochure. “Nothing that I can use to identify them.”

“I checked the doors.” Jungkook pointed. “Four on that side, three on the left. The last one leads to a riser. They didn’t section off the floor area.”

“Jimin’s truck arrived just now, by the way.” Yves was pointing behind her with a thumb. “He saw us and ran over, wondering what we were doing here. Said he’d keep a lookout for you.”

“They’re already here?”

“I suspect it's for soundcheck.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing revealing. I don’t even know much to begin with.” Yves was staring out at the road. “A bunch of four weirdos walking together. Funny haircuts and stuff. Wild makeup. You get the picture, I’m sure he did.”

“Where did they go?”

“The trailer’s parked at the back, I believe.”

“You should have seen the first truck,” Jungkook said, grinning. “It’s all red, holographic body. They tied balloons to the door handles.”

“Wonder if I’m allowed to ask him.”

“Why?”

“He might know someone who has the list of performers.”

“How would that help you?”

“I need photos. To compare with mine. There must be a reason why this opening act troupe isn’t named. The rest are.”

“Maybe it’s for their … mysterious aesthetic.” Yves poked at an olive inside her drink with the end of the paper umbrella. “Some of those DJs who come in here wear these really weird masks and helmets. Nobody’s ever seen what they look like.”

“I’ll just walk over and see if I can find him.”

Yves watched him go. “Don’t get him into trouble.”

Going round the block on the outside was a longer trip than going through the inside. Yoongi slowed his pace down as he caught sight of that giant red truck which Jungkook was talking about. A line of smaller grey trailers were parked behind it, a sound equipment car, a cab with the driver talking loudly into his walkie-talkie. The ceiling of the cave here extended high into a blinding sky of artificial white spotlights.

There were staff moving all over the carpark. It wasn’t just Ririko’s troupe, he realised. There were many performers on site, all shifting their gear into the venue. He saw a van unloading props for the plays. Some people were hanging around near the doors in noh costumes, smoking.

He walked up to the line of silver trailers, checking out the names pasted on each one. Jimin shared a trailer with three other people. The door had been left ajar, a silvery bead curtain hanging behind it. Yoongi paused before the small set of aluminium steps leading up to the front.

Someone was pottering around inside. The person came to the door after a few moments. A guy with a pair of headphones on, jeans and an oversized shirt.

He saw Yoongi waiting and lifted one side of his headphones off.

“Is Jimin here?” Yoongi asked.

The man pushed the door open wider.

“Yes,” he said cautiously. “Why?”

“I’m a friend.”

“... He’s busy.”

“Just wanted to say hello.”

The guy stalled for a bit, like he was deciding whether to believe him or not.

“He should be coming back soon.” He looked into the trailer, then back at Yoongi. “I think he went off to do his hair or something.”

So Yoongi waited outside, watching the people milling about the back entrances.

Jimin came back with a plastic cup of iced tea and damp brown hair, a towel across his shoulders. He saw Yoongi and started walking faster.

“Hi,” he said airily, smiling as he approached. “I heard you’re looking for someone.”

“Looking for you, actually,” Yoongi said, a little dazed from having Jimin suddenly so close to him. He grabbed in his pockets for the photos and brochure, opened the page to the list of scheduled acts.

“I, uh - here’s the thing. We’re trying to find out who the people performing in this troupe are.” His finger was tapping on the unnamed column. Jimin nodded slowly. “Nobody was able to tell me.”

“Are they new?” Jimin took the brochure from him. Yoongi could smell his cologne. “I don’t think I’ve heard of them.”

“Do you know anyone who has a list of the performers?”

“I can always ask the events manager, but he’ll wonder why I’m asking,” Jimin gave him an apologetic smile. “We’ll need to come up with a good reason.”

Yoongi pursed his lips, thinking. Jimin saw the photos in his hand.

“Are those your targets?”

“Yes. Four of them.”

“May I have a look?”

Yoongi held them up for him to see.

“This get-up is rather generic for performers.” Jimin paused, taking one and checking it carefully. “Definitely some sort of stage-based entertainment, though, judging from their face paint. You’re looking in the right place.”

Yoongi took the photographs to the events manager, flashing his license. “I’m looking for the people who are performing in this troupe,” he said, showing him the photos.

The manager was in his office, constantly being hounded by people rushing in and out with requests.

“Something happened?” he asked, breaking his on-off conversation with the equipment crewman in the corner.

“Nothing to be alarmed about.”

“I’m not sure where they are at the moment,” he said distractedly, already glancing through scoresheets for an opera act. “You can look in the dressing room corridor. Try asking for Haejin.”

Asking a few people for the lady’s name led him to a dressing room. He knocked on the door.

The lady who opened it looked irritated. There was someone else inside the room, sitting at the dressing table, with a makeup artist.

“Miss,” Yoongi said, still standing at the door. He held up the license. “I’m here for a routine check of the premises. I just need to ask you a few questions.”

They were staring at him. The makeup artist put her brushes down. Yoongi looked in the mirror and recognised Haejin at the dresser.

“About?” she asked.

“I’ve heard that some performers are working without permits.”

Haejin hadn’t turned from her mirror. She was still staring at him in the reflection.

“I have a license.”

Yoongi stepped further in, but he left the door open. “You’re part of a troupe, no?”

“Yes.” She eyed him cautiously.

“Of three other people?”

“Why are you asking me, if you already know?”

Yoongi looked around. “Do you mind if I check the room?”

“Sure.” She kept quiet and watched him in the mirror. The makeup artist was removing the towel from her head.

He walked up to inspect the outfits on the walls, turning them around on their stands, surveying the bottles of perfume on the dresser. He raised his eyebrows at a row of blood-crusted phallic-looking objects lined up on a dresser, hidden from view behind a stand of flowery costumes.

“What exactly are you looking for?” Haejin said.

“We’ve been told that some of the acts here involve the unnecessary entrapment and torture of people for the purposes of collecting their blood.” Yoongi paused, turning around and watching her reflection closely. “How do you feel about that?”

She was still putting eyeshadow on.

“Why are you asking me?” She stopped, then met his eye in the mirror. “That’s none of my business.”

That was all he needed to know. But he decided that shooting her right here wouldn’t be such a good idea - once the other three found out, they would all escape. He had to grab all of them in one spot at the same time.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the makeup artist cut in, before Yoongi could say anything else. She went to the door and pointed. “The lady has to dress for her show now. You have to leave.”

They waited outside, where a small line of visitor cars had parked along the street. Yves was on her second drink.

“I’m a good shot even on alcohol,” she said, stirring the Bloody Mary. “Don’t worry.”

Ten minutes till the show started. People were going in and out through the doors, wearing either too much or too little. They could feel the rush of cool air from inside every time the door opened.

Yoongi set up Pilotfish at the back of the car and watched it drift up to the cave ceiling. It would start photographing the site and send data back to the authorities, dispatching a troop of clean-up officers to arrive after he’d killed the targets.

“When are you going in?” Jungkook said, after a while of mindless watching.

“I just have to wait for the performers to arrive,” Yoongi said. “No rush. We can head in after the standing pen lights go out. It’s easier that way.”

They waited until they could hear the music from outside. By now the front foyer was nearly empty.

“You’ve got a good feeling about this plan, don’t you?” Yves said, still holding onto her empty glass. “You’re sure we’re not just chasing some phantoms.”

“We don’t know yet.”

Yoongi was standing very close to the wall, listening with hands folded behind his back. There was an even dream-like bass throbbing away behind it.

“Seems alright.” he beckoned to Jungkook. “Let’s go in.”

It felt the same as that first day he stepped into Broadway, all the too-bright spotlights, the dizzying crush of people standing too close to one another. He told Jungkook to look out for where the bouncers were. The throng of people in front had coalesced into a mess of shadows, arms outstretched, some of them holding onto camcorders.

Yoongi made his way to the back of the standing pen and waited there. The blue cube stage was illuminated from within. There were silhouettes moving behind it, the disembodied arms of dancers slowly touching the interior surface and pushing back. The bass continued to pound.

And then, a pop from the ceiling. An acrobat swung downwards with the speed of a noose dropping after the trapdoor had been opened. She was wrapped in white cloth, grabbing onto some ring-shaped hanger which she was suspended from.

An overly-excited voice announced her as the beginning act. She was Zhora. Yoongi waited for her to lower herself to the ground and remove the frilly mask.

Despite all the glitter on her skin and mouth, he could tell it was the lady from one of the photographs. She bowed, taking the announcer’s hand.

Yoongi turned around to look for Jungkook and raised his eyebrows slightly, tilting his head towards the stage. He’d told him earlier to take out the human bouncers slowly, keep the action close to the walls so nobody hears or sees. To make sure it was quiet and not fatal enough to kill.

Jungkook stayed a few steps behind him.

It all had to move very quickly and accurately from now on. Yoongi pushed into the crowd of shadows in the mosh pit, nudging his way quietly past hooded figures, bare bodied hairy dudes and people with pointed plague doctor masks. The camcorders were getting in the way. He’d find a suitable spot to take aim from.

The second act was starting. Something involving a cage and swords. A magic show. Yoongi stopped where he was, the heated breaths of people piling up on all sides, the uncomfortable press of bodies against him. The man on stage had hair the colour of mustard, a crushed velvet smoking jacket and fake blood on his hands. He was taking the swords out of their scabbards. A long wooden box on a metal cart was pushed onstage.

Prospero the Enchanter, cried the announcer’s voice. And Lady Haejin. The woman was in the box. Another contortionist trick. Yoongi shifted slightly to see her face.

Number two and three were performing together. Like a symbiotic prawn and goby pair, each one bouncing off the other’s act to even louder cheers.

He wondered how much time was left. The audience was still shouting and tilting their camcorders up, the songs getting louder and louder with no coherent beat to them. Yoongi moved to stand behind two large bulky people and took his gun out, holding it by his side.

He’d been hoping for a final number, or something similar. Zhora had already moved off-stage.

Fourth act. A flushed-looking man with a neon tube umbrella, clearly the last target. Yoongi hardly focused on what he was doing, already trying to find a clear spot of audience without those damned camcorders blocking the way.

And then he was stalling, still stalling while looking blankly up at the face of Batty on stage, the man never looking down at anybody. His eyes were the kind of blue that made everything too obvious. The manufacturer hadn’t done a very good job on the colouring.

Yoongi tried to think of the contagion, that virulent Datura spreading through their blood. That’s all they are, a big chunk of blood vessels and bone with Datura crawling around inside it. You’re doing them a service.

He raised the gun with both hands to get a steadier aim and let off a clear shot, which went into the neck. Good enough, like a slit throat. The recoil was fantastic, worse than he’d felt in Citadel’s house, and the force of it threw him back into the woman standing behind him.

Batty had stumbled back onstage, tipping into the tall stone sculpture prop which teetered and crashed, his mouth coughing up a thick and syrupy string of blood. It was a deep rich red around his chest, the stuff staining all his clothes, the blue greatcoat lapels and mother-of-pearl buttons. It took awhile for people to notice, enough for Yoongi to take another aim at Haejin, who’d run out onto the stage in nothing but a white towel around her body. The crying and shrieking started, an uneven wave that emerged from the front and moved to the back. People were suddenly dropping to the floor, looking around with terrified eyes, charging straight to the doors in blind panic.

The stagehands were coming out in pairs, someone already darting about, searching the crowd. Someone grabbed Yoongi’s shoulder as he let the second shot off, just in time for him to see the splotched red of Haejin’s towel before he was pushed to the floor, all the air rushing out of him.

The music was still playing, but it came in through his ears in one large mess of wails, mixed with the taste of sweat and tight-strung adrenaline. Something large and black came for his face, the pain exploding in his nose, before someone was screaming again. The hard sole of a shoe kicked his side, squeaking sounds of rubber on the plastic floor.

Yoongi touched a hand to his wet nose and opened his eyes. Jungkook was dragging a man by his neck, bludgeoning that thick-skulled shaven head into the side of the stage. Someone made a grab for Jungkook’s hair and was fisted under the jaw, forced to the ground, Jungkook’s hand moving somewhere near the throat. A gurgled animalistic shout which tapered off to a squeal.

Yoongi could smell the blood, taste it as it ran down to his lips and into his slightly open mouth. He lay there for a few moments, blankly watching Jungkook wrestle with shapes in the dark. It was awe, a delicious kind of fear pulling somewhere inside him as he watched every punch thrown, every grunt gunshotting his already frenzied heartbeat to near-hysteric levels. Still, his limbs moved weakly, shivering, like they were stuck in quicksand.

And then he realised that people were running, a clear circle forming around him. He fumbled at the ground for his gun with a hand, raising himself on one wobbly elbow and trying to see through his murky vision. Prospero the Enchanter had lost his hat in the scuffle, and was trying to drag Haejin’s injured body off the stage, the prince pulling his damsel away.

Yoongi got to a crouching position, his hand still holding the gun in their direction. They were moving slow, too slow. Two clips, both to where their heads should have been. It didn’t hit. Yoongi let go of his bleeding nose and grabbed onto the gun with both hands, letting off a string of shots which shook his painful head with each recoil, the burn and sting equally reverberating.

Red rope stanchions near the front had fallen over, pulling the sign boards along with them. People were stampeding, running out of the hall. On stage, Prospero’s body fell over Haejin’s.

Jungkook was dragging Yoongi to his feet. “The last one,” he said breathlessly, hands grabbing onto his arms. Yoongi could feel Jungkook’s heaving chest against the back of his head as he struggled to stand. “She ran out.”

They pushed their way out of the main entrance, saw Zhora racing down the lighted street, the clear orange raincoat half-wrapped around her body. Yoongi started to run, but a too-loud shot tore through the air, followed by another one. People were screaming again. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

A siren was going off somewhere in the distance, some public announcement system muttering strings of commands on a hazy frequency.

Over by the kerb, Yves was still locked in position beside a parked car, her posture disturbingly upright. Zhora had twisted over to the road in a choreographed sprawl, flailing limbs stilling after a few moments. The smoke was curling from the end of the shotgun. Yves lowered it and stayed where she was, watching the body.

The police car was already grinding to a stop near the pavement. Yoongi grabbed the license from his pocket and went down the steps. A man had crouched beside a car under a lamp pole with hands pressed over his ears, quietly sobbing.

Yoongi held the license out. The inspector looked at it, then at his nose. A kind of sympathetic crocodile smile on his face.

“Hope you got insurance.”

He turned around and motioned for the other two guys to check the body. They were all in raincoats, bulky helmets spotted with water.

Yoongi kept quiet, shoving the card back into his pocket.

They turned Zhora over. Knelt down, moved her face from one side to another to check for breathing. Her eyes were still wide open, staring up into nothing. A dirty smudge of mud on a temple, a flap of skin coming off the nose bridge. One of them pulled down the lid of her eye and took a scanner out, a pin of green light flashing on the receiving screen. The blood was leaking out of her wounds inside the raincoat, trapped there in the plastic creases like ink in a fish tank.

“Three others inside,” Yoongi said, then sniffed. He realised that the skin under one of his fingernails was bleeding.

Then he looked around at all the frightened faces, the tears in neon-gold, watching the inspector stride into the hall on shiny boots. Jungkook and Yves had wisely stayed out of sight.

The ride back was thick with exhaustion, this soggy blanket of fugue settling around them. Yoongi made a wrong turn on the way and circled to the junction, where yellow street lights and wet heat soaked in through the wound-down windows.

Yoongi decided that he’d make a drop by Taehyung’s, maybe get something for his nose.

Only after a long period of tense rumination did Yves finally speak, though her voice came out weird and uneasy.

“Anything else for today?”

“No.” Yoongi said. He was checking the broken fingernail in the light. “Too late. We all need a break.”

“Feels different,” Yves said distantly. “When you take down a person. She looked like a lovely lady too, tall enough to be a model.”

“You could tell?”

“Door was open, people were running out crying. I saw her jump down the stage.” Yves was staring up and out at the streetlights, her voice ponderous and drifting. “She ran really fast, had nice-formed legs that you don’t normally see on human girls …”

“What went through your mind?”

Yves was touching the surface of the window with her fingertips.

“Same thing as always. I’m about to shoot something, so I clear my head like what snipers do. Shoot between heartbeats, they always said, it steadies your arm.” An audible swallow. “I didn’t have time to think. All the while I’d been waiting outside by that car with the crosshair trained on people near the entrance waiting for someone to come running out. Still can taste the … sweet gin on my tongue. People were running out but I didn’t see you.”

She crossed her legs, leaned into the car door.

“So I figured you were still inside. That lady comes straight-up sprinting out with her wacky hair and she’s still half-naked, like I said, so I know she’s the one. And then I see you, so I just shoot. Like bringing down an animal, you know?”

\---

Mr Yeung got the report directly from the authorities that night. Yoongi hurried down to his parked car with a plastic bag of ice pressed to his nose and replayed the voicemail over the vidphone, staring out into the wet street beside the apartment.

A new location for Electra, the other older Nexus 6 model. A tip-off from someone who had spotted a lady resembling her physical description near an overcrowded shoebox unit block in Fu Dao Mansions, Chinatown. He took note of the address and went back up.

The tap was running in the bathroom. Jungkook’s jacket was tossed on the couch. Yoongi stared at it for a beat, then went quietly to the bathroom and saw, in the dark mirror reflection, Jungkook washing the blood off his arm. The cut was a messy incision along the inside of his forearm.

“Hey,” Yoongi said, coming in. “You didn’t tell me you’d gotten slashed there.”

Jungkook startled, turned around. The water inside the sink was red.

“It was sticking to the jacket.” He held up the arm, water dripping off it. “I didn’t notice until just now. Some of it got on your floor, sorry.”

They were staring at the water draining down the sink.

“That’s going to get infected.”

Jungkook said nothing, turned the taps on again. Yoongi took a box of tissues into the bathroom, waited with a wad in his hands. Jungkook turned away from him.

“Will you stop that -” Yoongi said, trying to grab the hand. “Just let me have a look at it.” He pressed the tissue there, but it soaked through. He took a towel and started tying a tourniquet above the elbow.

“Who did it?” he said, knotting the ends.

“One of them.” Jungkook pulled his arm away and held it elbow-deep in the sink under the running water. “I can’t remember their face.”

“Don’t do that,” Yoongi said, grabbing another towel and placing that on top of another tissue wad, pressing hard on the wound. They stood there for a full minute, hearing the drip of water into the sink, the red water running down the drain hole.

It seemed to subside.

“You can’t move it.” Yoongi let go, but pressed one of Jungkook’s hands to the stained towel. “Go there and sit down.”

“It doesn’t really hurt.”

Jungkook wrapped his hand around the bundle. He moved his arm up and down experimentally.

“That’s only going to make it worse.” Yoongi went to his room for the antiseptic tube. “Just go sit down.”

Later, Yoongi went back to the couch and picked up the jacket. A sticky clot had stained and dried on the cushion fabric. He sighed and took the jacket to the bathroom, turning it inside-out and holding it up to the greenish light.

The tear had gone clean through the fabric, a long rip up to where the leather wrinkled at the elbows. He sucked in his breath through his teeth and hung the jacket on the doorknob, then went back to sit on the couch, still pressing the ice pack to his nose.

He was staring at the bloodstain, wondering how he was going to get it off. The condensation from the bag was dripping down his numb hand to his lap.

Jungkook came out and stood in the entryway, the bathroom light outlining his shadow from behind, where it spilled out in a wide arc from the doorframe.

“Can you still feel anything in that arm?” Yoongi asked after a while.

“It’s just a little sore. Like I strained a muscle.”

“You can take the bed tonight.”

Jungkook took his jacket from the doorknob. He stood there, closely examining it in silence.

“Do you want a new jacket?”

“No.”

Yoongi shifted himself on the couch to make room. He tilted his head back against the wall.

“I have to set off tomorrow morning,” he said, and it came out all nasally. “They sent me a lead on the next case.”

Jungkook looked up at him and let out a sharp huff.

“Can you even go anywhere like that?”

Yoongi said nothing, just held the ice pack with his other hand and continued to look up at the ceiling. He saw the watermarks there, the grey spots in the dark blue light. Maybe he was just imagining things, but the stains seemed to have grown larger since the last time he noticed them.

Then he took the crushed cigarette pack out and lit one up with a match, inhaling a stinging lungful of air, something he hadn’t felt in a while. The tip glowed red in the darkness.

He tossed the matchbox onto the table and leaned back.

Jungkook was walking slowly to the couch. He sank down on the other side, the bloodstain separating the space between them. He was quiet, but Yoongi suddenly felt the weight of his presence there, a real solid thing, just the two of them sitting apart with their injuries and bleeding out of different places.

“Is all that worth it?” Jungkook whispered. “At this rate you’ll kill yourself before you kill them.”

Yoongi focused on how the ice felt against his nose, how the smoke tasted when he held it in his mouth before releasing it.

“I’m not doing this because I wanted to,” he said after a while. “They called -”

He cut himself off, not sure of how to continue.

“Does that hurt?” Jungkook said, looking at him.

Yoongi nodded slightly.

“I still don’t know how to think of it.” Jungkook looked down at the damp towel on his arm, still holding it there. “I thought - I should have felt more pain.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“That’s one of the things that proves you’re human, right?”

“I guess.”

“Maybe it’s just an automated response.” Jungkook sniffed. “Maybe I’ve been training to ignore it for so long that I don’t feel it anymore. Does that happen to people?”

“I don’t know.”

“I just wish we could find that orphanage. Then we’d know for sure.”

A beat passed.

“Do you think I’m human?”

Yoongi allowed himself a small smile at that. He stuck the cigarette between his lips and held it there for a few moments.

“That test is outdated,” he finally said. “But you’ve surprised me a lot.”

“Is that a good sign?”

Yoongi tapped ash onto the floor. “Do you think it is?”

A long silence.

“Yes.”

“Then you can be anything you want to be. It doesn’t matter.”

Jungkook watched Yoongi smoke for a while, then reached over to take the cigarette from him, putting it into his own mouth.

He held it there for a while and took it out, coughing slightly.

“I want to be human.”

Yoongi met his gaze, the slightly luminous grey eyes in weak light.

And Jungkook suddenly leaned towards him, reaching out with his hands. He held both sides of Yoongi’s face and delicately brought their mouths together.

It didn’t last for long - two seconds later he pulled away and they stared at each other with a kind of shocked fugue hanging in the air between them. Yoongi moved towards him again, but stopped when he heard his heavy breathing.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook managed to gasp out. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.”

Yoongi didn’t reply, his heart still pounding too much for him to think of a rational answer. He looked away, out to the balcony, then took another cigarette out and lit it up.

It was nothing else after that, until the lights in all the other units went down. A blimp drifted by occasionally, some sickening advertising jingle or imposing corporate voice booming from the speakers, sounds that echoed across the lonely complex.

Yoongi burned through the second cigarette and tapped the last of the ash all over his trousers, eventually sinking into an unsettled sleep.

The next morning, he went down to the car to check for calls. Half-asleep, he listened to the voicemail Mr Yeung had left for him. Something about Sumire’s report from the pathologist. Sumire being a replicant.

He sat up while yawning, realising that Mr Yeung was repeating that word.

Frowning, he replayed the voicemail, letting Mr Yeung’s voice fill the void of the car and steer him back into the waking world.

It wasn’t possible. They weren’t built for reproduction.

He had that vague, agitated sense of losing control of things again. There was a problem there, and he was supposed to go and resolve it. Things which weren’t supposed to happen were suddenly happening.

Yoongi switched off the phone and got out.

Outside, a diesel-fuelled blimp was hovering close to the road, this small, bulky thing of angular proportions. The billboard attached to it had been plastered with a large warning:

DISCONNECT FROM THE HIVEMIND. DO THE RIGHT THING. STOP THE SPREAD OF DATURA.

There was a voice track layered over that, repeating the same thing in the four main city languages.

The road in early-morning light was frigid and pink, passing by the paper lantern street with hawkers pushing out foldable chairs and plastic umbrellas for their outdoor seating. He went to get breakfast and headed back to the apartment with this dull aching point concentrated in the middle of his head, a bruise forming somewhere there.

Jungkook had stayed on the couch that night, waking up in the morning with crusted blood on his shirt and saying something about having wanted to keep the balcony doors open to feel the cold air come in.

Yoongi sank back into the single armchair in front of the Esper, nursing a thermos flask and feeling the hot steam curl into his sore nose.

He had Electra’s biography sheet in front of him, a pencil marking out the new address below her old one. The photo attached with a paperclip was the one he’d printed out from the shot of the toy shopfront. Blonde sixties’ bob, hard indigo eyes and an oversized kid’s dress collar. A Class C model with the vocation of a seamstress.

“Jungkook,” he said, standing up. “I’m going now. Are you coming?”

No reply.

He turned around. The couch was empty, blanket a messy swirl on one end.

“Jungkook,” he said, standing up. He found him crouching on the balcony with a cigarette held between two fingers, his free hand wrapped loosely around the railings. He was staring down at the street.

“Are you coming?”

He was quiet.

“I’ll go alone, then.”

Jungkook exhaled slowly, more focused on the smoke hanging in the air than anything else.

“Come on,” Yoongi said, stepping out to crouch down opposite him. “What’s the matter with you?”

Jungkook continued to stare down at the street, scrutinising a car parked down below. Yoongi surveyed the street, not seeing anything amiss. He toned his voice down, made it sound flat and business-like again.

“I’m leaving. Don’t try anything funny.”

Yoongi closed the balcony door. He waited for a while more, then silently collected his things and left the apartment.

Fu Dao Mansions was at the periphery of Chinatown, a tightly-packed cluster of blocks with a black and gold marble sign above the underground mall entrance. Yoongi entered through the sliding glass-doors, took one of the long escalators up. Along the way, he found himself looking over the handlebars into the yawning courtyard below, at the overexposed advertisements and flickering shop signs of small businesses, the people milling about below like ants.

The housing units at the top were nestled in narrow corridors, washing left to hang over the parapets, fake potted loquat and lavender sitting next to peeling drain pipes and air-conditioning units.

Yoongi navigated his way through footwear hastily left outside doors and walked down to the end of the dim corridor. The given unit number was located on the twelfth storey. A simple grille gate, a locked grey door. All of it looked rather new. He knocked on the door.

Nothing. He checked the dark adjoining windows, but the glass was tinted. He waited for another five more minutes and knocked again, harder this time.

“Anyone home?”

Silence.

“I’m here on behalf of the police department,” Yoongi said, slowly and clearly. “Could you please open up your door?”

The door of the neighbouring unit was pulled open. A man in a striped polo shirt stepped out to see what was happening.

“Police?” he asked, looking curious. “What police?”

“Where is she?” Yoongi said, pointing at Electra’s unit.

“Just left an hour ago.”

“Where?”

“She has a business.” The man was already closing his door. “I don’t know the name.”

Yoongi took the escalator down again. He caught hold of the first shop owner he could find, an Indian man serving gravy and naan to his patrons under paper-sconce lamps. He showed him the photographs of the shopfront and Electra’s portrait.

The shop owners directed him to a basement unit, one that was lined with colourful knick knacks on cloth-covered tables, tiny voodoo dolls and painted clay figurines in hanboks. The garbage adorned the ceilings and walls, spilling out into the walkway. A single naked fluorescent tube light hanging from the top gave light to the tiny shop space.

Yoongi stopped before it, surveying the things on sale. It matched the photograph, only the layout was slightly different. She probably moved her shop and house around from place to place out of paranoia. Did exactly what Mr Yeung had said about them.

A large rack had been placed as a sort of partition inside, hung with rolls of ribbons and broken thermometers. He picked up a cheap trinket and went inside on the pretence of paying for it.

Electra was writing something in an accounts book when she saw him. Smiling pleasantly, she took the item from him and moved to the till.

“May I ask you a few questions?”

She looked up at him cautiously.

“Of course.” She had a crisp, polished way of speaking. There was something taut about it then, he could see how she tensed up. Yes, Nexus 8s were naturally suspicious of everyone.

“What are your puppets made out of?”

Her face softened at that. “Wood. Real wood.”

“What about the squirrels?”

“Taxidermied.”

“Are you aware that it’s illegal?”

She was wrapping the trinket up in tissue paper. “No. I was not. And who are you to say that?”

Yoongi delayed his response, trying to read her expression.

“I’ve been tasked to check the store.”

She regarded him quietly, unmoving. “I have nothing to hide.”

“Fair enough.” Yoongi took the tiny package from her and slipped it into his pocket. “Please correct me if I’m wrong. Your name is Electra.”

There was no reaction on her face.

“You’ve only been here for two years. You were previously a Class C seamstress in -”

“Why don’t you come in and take a look?” she said, pointing to the back of the shop.

She turned and walked into the storeroom. Yoongi followed behind her, quietly taking his gun out of his holster as he went in. It was a messy space with boxes of patterned cloth everywhere, bunches of thread hanging off hooks on the wall, a large wooden loom to the side.

He tried to be quick, but Electra was faster. She spun around as soon as they’d passed the doorframe and got him in a chokehold, slamming the door shut by leaning against it. His immediate reaction was to press the gun barrel right against her side and hold it there, but she weakened his grip by twisting his wrist and tightening the angle of her arm against his neck.

They struggled wordlessly for a while, Electra eventually letting him go and shoving him towards the loom structure, which he crashed into. Something broke under the weight and he fell right through the splintered wooden beam. His gun was hurled somewhere underneath the mess of unwoven threads.

Dropping to a crouch, he groped below the loom for it, but Electra was upon him in a second, dragging him up by the left arm with such sudden force that he yelled.

His shoulder got trapped between two beams and he was struggling to pull it down. Electra left him hanging and walked to the side of the loom. She stuck a foot under it and stepped down on a long pedal which brought the two beams together, crushing his shoulder between them.

“Is this illegal?” she said, like she was pondering something and testing it to see if it would work. He made a strangled incoherent noise at the crushing pressure. She only stepped down harder at this.

Yoongi’s other hand found the end of the long shroud she had been weaving on the loom, pushing past it with trembling hands. He was dragging his weight on his shoulder harder now, trying to get it out of the vice. Through the searing pain, he managed to feel for the head of the gun on the floor.

The first shot went through to her foot, which was stepping on the loom pedal. Electra jumped back, seeing the nasty burn there, and he put a second and third shot through the top of her head while she was looking down.

The body teetered and crashed towards him into the loom.

Pulling his arm away from the two released beams, Yoongi slumped against the wall, wincing and holding onto his shoulder. The hot pain had spread into tingling numbness around the socket, something he almost couldn’t feel, for a moment seeming like the entire arm had completely detached from his body. He was sure something had sprained inside.

For a few minutes, he stayed there watching Electra’s corpse bleed out onto the half-woven cloth under her head, limbs twisted at an unnatural angle. He waited there until the pain died down into a throbbing ache.

Then he went to the counter and found the desk phone, calling Mr Yeung.

Later, Yoongi was sitting on the counter stool, sweating and stiff, while the authorities went in to inspect the body. One of them went down and got a bag of dirty supermarket ice for his shoulder, throwing it on the counter. They took photos of the scene, paying him no attention after that.

Yoongi pressed the bag of ice to his shoulder, the sudden freezing contact sending a shudder through him. He looked around the cluttered table for a distraction from the pain. A tip jar. Red and blue ink pens, some uncapped on the table. Several bills folded and pressed down with a cut-glass paperweight. A jade snuff bottle.

He noticed a torn-out sheet of letter paper that had been folded into half and slotted haphazardly alongside a thick file, labelled INVENTORY, and a round pink handheld mirror. Bored, he pulled the sheet out and unfolded it with his good hand, looking at a page with writing that he couldn’t understand.

It wasn’t any letter, he realised after a while. This was something else. The words were printed in upside-down, horizontally-reflected text to make it harder to read. He took the mirror and held it above, just managing to make out the letters RFM somewhere in the lines before he heard the clean-up guys talking, meaning they were coming back. He quickly put the mirror down.

Hell, they even had a secret code. This wasn’t just some silly guerrilla movement - it was a whole damn organisation.

Below the letters, at the bottom blank margin, someone had written a few short words and phrases in red ink. Yoongi stared blankly at the names until it finally occurred to him that they were train stations. He turned the sheet over. The grid on the back of it was scrawled all over with coordinates and dates in red ink, many of them scratched out.

He folded the piece up and quietly slid it into his pocket.

Going back, he found a narrow drain alley between two of the adjoining blocks and walked through into the main courtyard. Stores lined all sides in a wraparound line of open-air market, loaded cartons and fruit crates spilling out into the open, conical stacks of spices in metal pans. Their colourful stringed lights gleamed in the dark weather.

The smell of everything cut through the smoggy late morning air - it was only the beginning of the day but he’d nearly gotten his arm ripped off. He moved quickly through the courtyard and exited the building, this confused fog gathering inside his head. Out there, the road had a soft, unreal quality to it, lines blurred, mixed with the digital lights until he had to stop walking, standing where he was for a few seconds to recover.

He realised that he’d gone down the wrong way. The car was parked on the other side of the road.


	8. betta splendens

In the apartment, Yoongi went straight to the bathroom and unfolded the sheet of newspaper in front of the sink, holding it upside-down in front of the mirror.

It was a simply-written report on how a train station had been hijacked by one of their anonymous members, someone who’d escaped the facilities a few months ago, with directions on where exactly they were moving. Electra had been tasked with tracking it, for some reason. He turned the paper back to read the list of red scribblings, and compared that with the old map and his printout of decommissioned stations. Jinsoul had indeed been moving from place to place.

He took a pen and started striking off the names, according to the ones which Electra had cancelled out on hers. Everything matched, meaning that Jinsoul had simply been circulating her locations around each of the abandoned stations at any one time. It also explained why no one had seen her, because she kept to the routes which never saw any passenger traffic. Routes which even the authorities had lost track of because all the old records were destroyed in the blackout.

He ran down the row of names to the last one that Electra had written.

There was no photograph attached, but the description of the scene in the report convinced him enough. He checked out the station name - Betta Splendens - on his copy of the old map, and placed that next to a copy of the current map. It was the stop right after an interchange, located near one of the longer cross-city lines. He marked it out on the map and went down to the car to check out the position on the GPS.

It was easier to take the train there, and get off at the nearest station. The connecting road to Betta Splendens from there required a fifteen-minute walk through an industrial estate.

Going back up, he went to collect the paper and the cigarette pack. Jungkook was waiting for him, peering over the damp sheet and the red ink. The tourniquet slipping down on his elbow, the long string of bandage wrapped mummy-style around his forearm.

Yoongi’s shoulder still felt strange, and it was getting a little numb now, but the prospect of the final catch shot his frayed nerves through, gave him this nearly nihilistic sense of purpose.

Jungkook looked up at him as he came to the table.

“Do you wanna go for a ride?”

\---

They took the train, this time pressed close to the glass doors, standing a little closer than the last time. Yoongi kept the map unfolded in front of him, Jungkook peering over his shoulder. They rode the path right down to the interchange, where they got off and stood at the platform to study the map, wondering how to get there.

“We can probably take a bus,” Yoongi said, comparing it with his. “The industrial complex is there, with a … nursing home, right here.” He tapped his finger on the glass board. “Follow this road. The exit should be somewhere on that side.”

Jungkook studied the tiny ID photo that Yoongi was holding up for him to see.

“So this is the Jinsoul girl you were talking about,” he murmured. 

“She’s been moving around.” Yoongi stowed the photo away. “Running away from something.”

They exited the interchange and started down the street. It was still dark and rain was still falling from the sky in specks. They moved through puddles of water and shuffled to the zinc-roofed bus stop.

The double-decker bus had frosted windows and a large armoured black shell, giving it the appearance of a giant wet stag beetle moving down the street. It was a short ride to the next stop, which dropped them off at the road crossing. Peeling, muted buildings barricading both sides of the street, permanently locked gates. They crossed the road and hurried over to the taped-off train station entrance, Yoongi consulting the map every few minutes.

There was a long piece of rope tied to a metal stand, flapping in the wind. Beyond that, the defunct escalator steps led down into darkness.

Yoongi glanced at Jungkook through the cold shower that was pelting down on both of them. A beat passed - probably hesitation, or something else. They stooped under the rope and started down the dusty escalator steps, metal steps squeaking and echoing under their weight, a sound that followed them all the way down to the train platform.

The operator room was locked, leaving with nothing but Yoongi’s little flashlight to navigate their way around the platform. A thin layer of dust had gathered on the grey floor, though at one point he thought he saw a line of messy footprints tracked across the tiles far off in front.

They couldn’t hear the rain down here - it was all drenched-dark and underwater silence. The beam of his flashlight found the glass gates of the platform. He followed the line of it, carefully down to the one at the end, where a gate had been left - or forced - open.

He stood there in the doorframe, breathing in the musty air of the underground tunnel, waving the light about to check the rusted tracks.

Nothing. He could hear Jungkook padding about softly somewhere behind.

“Why’d she want to pick a place like this?” Jungkook said, when they’d taken to waiting at one of the platform seats. Yoongi had been idly flicking his torch on and off, the other hand holding onto the rain-soaked map.

“It’s the best place to hide. It’s a string of abandoned train stations -” he gestured at the map, “- she has a pattern and she only chooses those which have been cut off from the main network because of a track diversion.”

“It’s like she just wants to run away.”

They waited, but Yoongi didn't really know what he was supposed to be waiting for. The place gave off a bad energy - something he was sure would stay with him long after he'd left the place. He quietly moved his arm higher up along the metal armrest until it just touched Jungkook’s elbow. He left it there, feeling a strange comfort from the warmth of the contact.

They hadn’t been expecting a train to pull into the station, of all things. There was a distant humming at first, something shaking and approaching. He got up when the sound grew to a deep rumble, walking to that open platform gate. He stood there, waiting.

No light in the distance, but his eyes were slowly getting used to making out the outlines of tracks, the rocks below, end-stop light, a thin railing and service pipes covering the ceiling of the tunnel.

A thin screech in the hollow distance from somewhere down the snaking tracks. The vibration grew stronger. He took a few steps back and waited.

“Maybe it’s a service stop?” Jungkook asked.

“Can’t be.”

He could see a weak light, getting stronger as something came around the bend. It moved slowly, nearly silent as it approached the platform. All the cabin lights were operational, a strange feeling of life and normalcy somewhere in there that didn’t sit right with him at all.

An internal engine seemed to switch off. The hissing sound of motors grinding to a halt continued for a few seconds before sharply stopping.

The doors opened, and nothing happened. Jungkook was waiting quietly behind him, Yoongi moving back and nearly bumping into him. He stiffened, then recovered when he realized who it was.

He started moving along the length of the platform, scanning the inside through the lighted windows of the train. And then he noticed the body-shaped thing lying across a row of seats, wrapped up in a thick layer of clingfilm, no blood. He stared at it for a few moments, heart standing still, before he could force himself to walk back to the open platform gate.

Yoongi hovered near the entrance for a while longer, motioning for Jungkook to stay outside in case anyone tried to come in. He entered the cold train and moved slowly down towards the cabin with the body in it, stomach churning. Some kind of ghost train this was, pulling up with a dead body inside it.

He’d gotten about three cabins in, away from the entrance, before all the doors in the train suddenly closed. He stopped in his tracks, quickly darting to the nearest entrance to stay out of sight. The body was still there, unmoving and solid on the seats.

Jungkook had run down from the entrance and was banging on the platform gates on the other side of where he was. Yoongi caught sight of his ghostly face in the darkness before the train jerked forward and stopped, sputtering like a dead jalopy. Yoongi grabbed onto a railing to steady himself, his breathing picking up pace.

The lights were dimming inside - all the way from the front and back, closing in on the cabin he was standing in. He could hear Jungkook banging loudly on the glass, muffled and frantic.

 _What_ , he mouthed. Jungkook was pointing to the side, further down the train. Yoongi couldn’t read what he was saying. He slowly moved forward again, trying to find out what the hell he was pointing at. It was all bluish lights, dangling handrails, the deep groan of something trying to pull away.

The train lurched forward, throwing him off his feet to the seats at the side, where he pushed himself upright on his good arm. There was someone coming down from the front, their footsteps clipped and measured. It was so dark in front that he couldn’t see.

The pounding on the glass had suddenly stopped.

Yoongi propped his gun up on the seats and got to his feet. The train was moving now, gaining momentum.

Jungkook had been pointing at the thing in front. The corpse, which had rolled onto the floor with a dull thud, the hard sound of stiff muscle. Someone was dragging it away.

The train moved through briefly illuminated tunnels, alternating periods of dark and light. When it was bright enough to see, he made out Jinsoul’s silhouetted figure standing there, right in the middle of the gangway connection. There were a few people inside, standing behind her.

Yoongi didn’t think much of it, letting off as many shots as he could hold, knowing some of it would hit. The train was still moving.

People were running right at him, and he moved backwards, trying to put as much distance between himself and them. A figure suddenly fell forward in his direction from the impact. Yoongi stared at their blown-out chest wound before looking up and seeing Jinsoul there, holding close to her body the bleeding form of a person who had gripped her in a tight embrace, now slowly slipping to the ground.

The shock of it froze him for a moment too long.

He saw her turning, running down into the darkness. Someone was shouting, a scream shot through the monotonous wail of the train on its rails. Yoongi got up and chased after her. He passed by dark figures slumped on the ground, the burnt splotches on the white walls of the gangway connectors.

He made it right down to the front of the train, a small booth with a complicated control panel in front, blinking red and green stop lights. He was shooting again as he approached, hitting the glass, the dashboard, puncturing the plastic seats, but she moved fast, reaching for the controls.

The train jerked to a halt again, causing them both to fall. It started in the opposite direction at breakneck speed, going back the way they had come. Yoongi slid over the floor by a few metres, only stopping when he crashed into the upright rail at the centre of the cabin.

She’d grabbed onto the glass door and swung it inwards. In the flashing lights of the tunnel outside, he saw the dark patch near the abdomen of her shirt, the blinking flash of something metallic near where her hand should have been - a laser tube? She stretched an arm out of the gap and threw it right at him and he managed to roll out of the way, but it zipped past his leg and gave him a horrible burning feeling near the knee.

He crawled on the floor to the seats and retrieved his gun from where it had skidded away to a corner.

None of them moved for a few moments, not until the train cabin stopped rattling with the speed at which it was travelling. Yoongi moved out and towards her when the train started to slow down, shooting directly at the door. The glass grew hotter, rapidly cracking apart at all the impact points.

The train suddenly ground to a halt, and he had to grab on to a handrail with his sprained arm to steady himself, wincing at the pain.

She moved out of the control booth at that moment, lunging out and going straight for his head with a switchblade. Too close to fire without injuring himself as well, he pushed her arm away, managed to drag her by the hem of her leather jacket to the door, where they both slammed into it just as it opened.

Jinsoul got to her feet and kicked his arm just as he reached out to grab her ankle. He got out and ran after her inside the tunnel, trying not to trip on the rails. Even while stumbling slightly along the way, she was still fast, covering ground over the tracks and rocks, disappearing into the darkness. Yoongi caught up and found himself at a locked service door built on a raised platform, where he pounded on it and groaned.

He didn’t know if she’d been wounded or not. From what he saw, it was somewhere in the stomach, maybe burning through deep enough to let her bleed out. Still, he needed to find the body to be sure.

Yoongi got down to the tracks, walking back a short way in the headlights of the stationary train, shuddering slightly. The stinging sensation on his knee was slowly turning to pain. Looking down, he saw the hole in the fabric of his pants, a patch of raw-looking skin showing up in the gap.

He limped back to Betta Splendens and climbed the service staircase leading to the dark platform.

He pushed the door open, stepping into the station. It was quiet. He walked unsteadily across the platform, stopping when he saw a few dark shapes on the floor in the distance, a single beam of light illuminating their forms.

Looked like bodies.

He walked forward with a sickening sense of dread, finger moving to his gun trigger.

In the beam of his dropped flashlight, two bulky bodies, leather jackets and shorn heads. They were bleeding from the mouth.

He stopped where he was, hearing ragged breathing nearby. Picking up the flashlight, he moved slowly towards the sound.

It was Jungkook, also lying on the floor.

Yoongi went over, the left hand holding his flashlight shaking. He set it on the floor and crouched down next to Jungkook, who was still breathing. He slid his gun back into the holster and reached out to gently turn him over.

Nothing worse than he’d expected, but still jarring enough to give him a shock. Nasty bruises to the face, a split lip, more bruising near the neck. Jungkook’s hand suddenly reached up and grabbed Yoongi’s arm, making him jump.

“What happened?” Yoongi whispered, surprised at how weak his own voice sounded. He closed his own hand over Jungkook’s. “Who are those guys?”

The breathing evened out eventually, Yoongi just crouched there in silence, watching his face in the flashlight beam.

“I’m so tired -” Jungkook managed to croak. “They were inside watching us …”

“Those people?”

“Thought you were killed. Jinsoul.” Jungkook coughed quietly, tried to pull himself to a sitting position. “I … went after them.”

Yoongi reached out and touched the smear under his split lip with a thumb.

“Jinsoul,” Jungkook repeated. “She has more.”

“I killed them. They’re all on the train.”

Yoongi held on for a few moments, then got up and went over to check the dead bodies. He moved their heads slightly, pulled the eyelid down and took his penlight scanner out just to check.

Both Nexus 9 models, probably part of the same hijacked ship that Jinsoul had come to the city in, both combat models. No wonder that Jungkook had such a hard time trying to get them down. He made a quick search of their pockets, finding access cards and keys to different service rooms in the station.

In the weak light, he could make out a few labels - control room, electricity, riser. The two of them were probably lying in wait somewhere while he and Jungkook unknowingly walked right into the station.

Taking those with him, Yoongi went off to check the rest of the station. He tried the different keys at each door, finding one which led right to the emergency control station. The monitors were switched on - red, green and blue lights reflecting onto the ceiling and walls, chairs half-pushed away from the desk like the operator had disappeared for a short break.

So it had been operational the whole time, just cut off from the public eye.

He went to the control panels and studied the screen for a few seconds. It was a typical 8-bit style display, the green tracks indicating operational routes, red ones for skipped stations and yellow for newly diverted ones. The train that Jinsoul was on had been stuck at a switchboard intersection.

He searched for the lights to the room, going to the mounted wall sockets and hovering his finger over the rows of switches.

And then someone’s hand slipped around his neck - two hands - meeting each other near the front of his throat where they tightened and started pulling him to the ground. He drew in a sharp breath out of shock, gagging and sputtering out a cough. Struggling to move, he pushed back against the assailant with all his body weight, shoving them to another side of the room. One hand came away from his neck, but his face was suddenly forced against the wall.

A metallic click, somewhere near the side of his head. Yoongi brought the handle of his gun down to the body mass behind him, hard enough to bruise, and Jinsoul shrieked, letting go.

She was holding the knife in her left hand, the other hand placed over her cheek. Yoongi barely had time to recover before she’d pushed him to the floor, one foot on top of his chest and the other one stepping partially on his wrist, the hand holding onto the gun.

“Looks like we’re even now,” she said, leaning over, reaching down with the blade and dragging him up by his jacket collar. In the control panel lights, he could see the burn in the jacket on her left shoulder.

His own injured arm was still completely useless and weak. Still, he reached up weakly to try to grab onto her arm, anything that she was wearing, just to pull her down and buy him more time. Then a shadow appeared in the doorway, and the lights were flicked on.

“What the hell is going on?”

They looked up. A tired-looking young man was standing near the entrance, his hand still near the switches.

Yoongi met his eyes, saw the scruffy black hair, slightly overgrown and in need of a trim. A faded hoodie, one of the drawstrings shorter than the other. Namjoon stared back at him calmly, taking a few seconds to recognise his face. When he did, he frowned slightly, then walked towards them.

“I know him.” The voice was weakly relieved. He gestured at them. “Stop this.”

Yoongi pulled her weakening grip away from his jacket. He wiped his nose and mouth with the back of his hand and got to his feet, ignoring Namjoon’s outstretched hand.

“Your face,” Namjoon said placidly. “It hasn’t changed much.”

Yoongi moved away from Jinsoul, that adrenaline slowly dying in his veins. They stood there in uncomfortably tepid silence. Namjoon was looking at the gun in his hand, one eyebrow raised.

“What’s that for?”

Yoongi looked down at it, then hastily slid it back into the holster.

“You guys were trying to kill each other.”

“He came after me first,” Jinsoul said, trying to stand upright, but Yoongi could see that the abdomen wound was giving her some pain. “He’s a bounty hunter.”

Namjoon had been listening in silence. He gave Yoongi a once-over and touched his nose bridge like he had a headache.

“So you work for the police now, huh?”

“I’m a subcontractor.”

“And she’s one of your targets.”

Yoongi shifted his weight from the injured leg to the other. “Yes.”

“I wouldn’t want you to kill her,” he said. “She’s important to the station.”

“I already got everyone else.”

Namjoon didn’t say anything in response to that, just looked between the two of them with that same guarded and blank expression, his breathing even and dull.

“Let’s go back to the office,” he finally said, turning to walk out of the room.

The office was a dark, damp space with a full-wall mirror down one side, repurposed train handrails hanging from the ceiling under a mezzanine, metal beams criss-crossing the ceiling above them like warehouse shelf structures. It had the length and width of a large walk-in closet with a large white spotlight at the end, fluorescent tubes attached to darker spaces and a large one above the mirror.

Jungkook was following behind at a slow pace, dragging his feet on the dusty floor. Yoongi went back and found him seated on the bench, wiping the spit and blood from his lip.

Namjoon moved to the lighted space under the mezzanine, where a foldable table had been assembled, a computer and numerous stacks of paper on top of it. The walls were blue and peeling away, exposing acid-washed concrete.

Jungkook sank down to the ground in a corner, leaning his head against the wall.

“Can someone bring something for him?” Yoongi asked, slowly getting irritated at the zen-like way that Namjoon was handling the whole thing. “He shouldn’t be sitting on the floor.”

“What do you want?” Jinsoul asked.

“What do you have?”

She walked over to a runged staircase which led to the upper platform, coming back with a cushion fashioned out of a potato sack and couch stuffing, which she placed on the floor next to Jungkook.

“Joohoon and Kia got you real bad,” she murmured, but there was a slight smile to it. “I hope you were gentle with them.”

Namjoon sat at the desk for a few minutes, going through a few stapled stacks of paper with a sort of half-brood that blazed with darkened intellect and big, lush hours of cerebral sleep.

“How did you get here?” he finally asked, making notations on a diagram in a notebook.

“I’ve been tracking her.”

“They closed the station a long time ago.”

“Didn’t stop me from going in.”

There were too many things he wanted and needed to ask.

“Your friend over there -” Namjoon said, tilting his head in Jungkook’s direction, “- a Nexus 9 too?”

“Yes.”

“How’d you get hold of him?”

Yoongi glanced at Jinsoul, then back at him. “I’d ask you the same thing.”

Namjoon slowly reached for a yellow envelope on his desk and opened it up, removing a sheet of paper. He beckoned for Yoongi to come take a look.

Yoongi skimmed through it in confusion, then noticed the Wallace logo right at the top. It was a job acceptance letter, congratulating the recipient for the commencement of a contract at Wallace as a … genetic designer.

The silent realization dawned on him. Namjoon slid the paper back into the envelope with the careful movements of someone hiding a classified document.

“Why are you here, then?” Yoongi asked.

“I was sacked. Long story.”

“So you knew each other back in Wallace?”

“I knew one of the crew members of her team. He left me with a location before defecting his outpost.”

“He left one of my targets with locations too. That’s how I found you.”

“Who was it?”

“Electra. Nexus 8 model.”

“I don’t know her. The freedom movement wanted to get in touch with all escaped replicants living out here.” Namjoon shrugged. “Even if they’re not part of the movement, they still protect them and look out for them.”

“The one you started from Halfaxa.”

Namjoon stopped sifting through the papers on his desk. His face fell.

“Halfaxa is dead.”

“That’s not what I’ve been told.”

Namjoon seemed to lose track of his train of thought for a few seconds, looking down at a blank page, the pen flipping back and forth between his ring and index finger.

“I met them the other day. Hoseok, Yves -” Yoongi cut himself off when Namjoon brought his stare back to the room. “Did you bring it to Wallace?”

Namjoon ignored the question. “How long have you been following us?”

“Since I was given the assignment. A few weeks ago.” Yoongi paused. “Why are you working with them?”

Namjoon stopped what he was doing and looked up. “To you it probably makes no difference. An enemy is an enemy. That’s what I am.”

“You’re not. You’ve never been.” Yoongi said. “If you’re trying to start a revolution, this is the last place I’d expect you to start it from.”

“I’m not starting a revolution.”

“Then why are you helping a combat team?”

Jinsoul cut in. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s no team now. There’s only me.”

Yoongi turned his head sharply to face her. She said nothing after that, just tilted her head in this patronising way, silver hoop earrings winking and flashing in the lights.

“Wallace was searching for us,” Namjoon said, fiddling with the cover of a notebook. “That’s why we have to keep moving.”

“So you’re a wanted criminal too. You didn’t tell me that.”

“It doesn’t matter, anyway.” Namjoon waved his hand. “We’re moving and you’re either in or in the way. If you don’t have any business left then you should leave.”

“I do have something to finish. If you’re not going to let me do it then I’ll have to call someone else in because you have a body on your premises. They sure as hell won’t be on your side.”

“That wasn’t me.”

“But you’re still responsible for the people who did it.”

“Listen, you’re just as guilty as the rest of us,” Namjoon shot back. “It doesn’t matter which side you’re on. Think about that.”

“There’s no reason to think about that.”

“There is. You have one right there.” Namjoon pointed at Jungkook. “You wouldn’t be working with a skinjob if you hate them so much. You don’t hate them. You’re just on the payroll of someone who does.”

“You’re telling me to stop, is that it?”

“I’m telling you to _listen_. Jinsoul here wanted me to help her team out with something. We were developing a cure for Datura.”

“Not possible. You’re just making life difficult for yourself.”

“It’s certainly better than doing what you do.”

“Some of us don’t have the liberty to choose jobs, Namjoon.”

“So what if you get rid of them? Nothing will change. There’s always going to be another case, another day to hunt down another skinjob. Someone else can do the hunting in your place.” Namjoon was looking straight at him. “You’re just little people. We all are.”

An uncomfortable hush fell over the room.

“Alright,” Yoongi said begrudgingly. “We’re all little people. I get that. We’ll only do what little people can do.”

“So help us.”

“Help you with what?”

“You know what Halfaxa is, you’ve met the people in it. Don’t you feel anything?”

“No.”

“Aren’t you worried about your Nexus 9?”

Yoongi didn’t know how to reply.

“The virus is spreading,” Jinsoul said, “if we can find a cure, I want to go back to Wallace and send it into the computer system.”

“... What’s that going to achieve? Infected people are already moving to cities. It’s going to spread before you can even plug up the source.”

“You don’t understand. It spreads through neurocables.” Jinsoul pointed at a diagram pinned to the wall above Namjoon’s desktop. “If we can introduce it to the Hivemind, we can break it at other system points too.”

Yoongi reluctantly walked over and took a look at the diagram.

“You’ll have to go back to Wallace for that,” he said. “I thought you said they were hunting for you.”

“If it means bringing a working cure back, so be it.”

“How are you going to do it, then?” He looked between the two of them. “What’s the progress so far?”

“We have a prototype and a sample of the virus signature isolated from an infected system. We also have a computer program written by one of the team members -” Namjoon gave Yoongi a deliberate glance “- who’s already dead. But it works. I just have to study the code and write a counter programme. I still have the primary data files from Wallace and access to their database.”

“How are you going to get into their terminals?”

“We were studying the layout of the main building.” Jinsoul pointed to another piece of paper, which contained a rough floor plan sketch. “I’ll turn myself in there and sneak to the computer centre.”

Yoongi studied the layout.

“You sure got some ambition,” he mumbled after a while, giving Jinsoul a glance.

“I came here to die,” she said bluntly. “Now I don’t care where it happens, but for once - I really want to stop killing people.”

Yoongi was trying to read what was written on the other pieces of paper. It looked like a lot of sketched diagrams - scientific drawings and short philosophical-sounding quotes with page numbers under them.

“I’ll give you something to think about,” Namjoon added. “Don’t let all those replicants die for nothing. Joohoon, Miyuki, Kia, Thom, Hyori, Lula, Dowon, Mako. Remember their names. You retired them, and they were good people who wanted to do something good before they reached the end of their lives.”

Yoongi kept quiet.

“Drop the doubting Thomas act already,” Namjoon said after a beat, getting up and ushering both of them to the control room. “You know just as well as they do that Wallace hasn’t got a lid on any of this.”

Namjoon closed the door and went to the panels, tapping on something to power it up. He reached for a joystick on the same panel and went to the screen.

“I just need to bring that damned train back.” He went to check the rows of lever frames. “Help me to check if the switchboard is moved to the correct angle. The screen should show a straight road through.”

Yoongi stopped in front of the monitor next to Jinsoul, their faces tinted blue in the glare of the screen.

“Seems alright.”

Namjoon tugged on a green lever frame with a grunt, letting the metal slide all the way to the other end. He released it and quickly came back to the control panel.

“This place hasn’t been used since the 2020s.” He was watching the screen closely, moving the joystick forward by minute increments. “They shut it down and started renovating it a few months ago. That’s how they got the service crew in.”

On screen, Yoongi watched the train slowly pull back into the platform.

“We improvised with an old model.” He locked the joystick in position and pushed the door open, moving out to the platform. “The location was ideal too. Not too crowded.”

Jinsoul was gazing at the screen, lightly running her fingers over the buttons with the delicacy of someone trailing their hand through a row of flowers.

“Did you steal that train?” Yoongi asked her.

“It’s an abandoned one.” Her voice was soft. “Everything in this place is so fucking old.”

Namjoon came back. He pulled up one of the rolling chairs and sat down before the control panel, studying it.

Yoongi stood by, casually leaning his weight against the desk. He watched Namjoon fiddle with a few commands for some time, then decided to ask him something.

“Where did you go after leaving school?”

“Found work.” Namjoon didn’t look up at him, tapping on the digital menu. “Bought a car, which broke down. Didn’t buy another one after that.”

“You know what I mean.” Yoongi folded his arms. “How’d you end up at Wallace?”

“They have a penchant for hiring like-minded people.”

“You’re saying you resemble the founder?”

“No. He looks out for people who … well, do the kind of stuff I do.”

“Get expelled?”

“One of the requirements.”

“So what, he’s some corporate Mother Teresa who hires school dropouts because he can.”

“Because he can, yes.” Namjoon set something running and watched. “Wallace is an interesting man, and I mean it in the worst way possible.”

“Why?”

“The hiring process includes a final step that you have to sit through in order to get any kind of position. It’s not the nicest of things and it’s certainly not easy but it’s very characteristic of someone like him.”

Yoongi kept quiet, waiting for him to go on.

“He’ll bring everyone to his office for the last step. There’ll be a replicant in there, on the pretense of being his personal assistant. You walk in, and there are two other officials in the room to make sure you don’t leave.”

Namjoon rested his hands on two large buttons, debating which one to press.

“Wallace likes to show that he has control. He makes it apparent from the start. The replicant he keeps in his office is a reject and they’ll do anything he says, even the most extreme commands.”

“Which is?”

“Things like self-destruction. Putting blades into their necks and severing arteries. I’ve watched about a dozen reject replicants do that to themselves in the rooms, between my interview and sitting in on interviews of prospective employees. Some of them pass out at the sight of blood, because most of them who go there don’t seem to understand that Wallace makes synthetic humans, not androids.”

“Tyrell used to call them droids.”

“When it looks like a human and talks like a human, even bleeds like one - well, you can’t really call it a droid anymore, can you?”

Yoongi slowly became aware of Jinsoul’s eyes on both of them. She still had a hand over her t-shirt, the bloodied patch on white.

“Why were you fired?”

Namjoon kept quiet for a long time before replying.

“Do you want the short version, or the long version?”

Yoongi shook his head noncommittally. The central processing unit began beeping, signalling a probable structure fault. Namjoon typed a password in and went into the admin panel.

“Working there is quite an experience. I won’t deny that.” He stopped typing. “You learn a lot of skills. You also learn when to keep your mouth shut and when to take the lead. I was one of the people in charge of putting out the infamous Nexus 7 commercial-line models.”

“Which never arrived.”

“Skipped a whole generation.” Namjoon grinned weakly at this, faint dimples forming on his cheeks which Yoongi hadn’t noticed before. “All because of me.”

“What did you do?”

“Do you remember the time when Wallace was still beta-testing their holographic JOI companions? The pre-order ads were everywhere.”

“Yes.”

“I was selected as one of the test subjects. They wanted to make a hologram out of me. A likeness of me, down to the mannerisms and appearance.”

“You’ve told this story before, Namjoon,” Jinsoul said, sighing. She was inspecting the rows of lever frames on the other side of the control room.

“It didn’t take very long to programme.” Namjoon moved the cursor slowly across the screen. “They had the base code and model, all they had to do was make tweaks to the settings. I was in the workshop and they brought the emanator out to show me the hologram on the day that I was slated to give a product opening launch for the Nexus 7.”

“Did you like it?”

“I liked it at first,” he said. “The workshop was this large yellow room - about the size of a sports stadium, so it was big enough for the hologram to fit in. The first thing I noticed was that it was completely naked. They’d given it a kind of monk robe to wear, for presentation purposes. They copied everything down to the hair colour. Maybe you wouldn’t believe it, but I’d gotten a bleach job back then. Some trend that was going on among the employees. Anyway, the thing was enormous - at full height it could have touched the top of the stadium.”

“Wow.”

“So I stood there watching it for a while, slightly amused - but there was something very unsettling about it after a while. I’m not talking about uncanny valley or anything like that. I mean, there’s some degree of it in everything that’s supposed to be human but isn’t -”

Jinsoul looked over at him, visibly pissed now.

“- I’m serious. It wasn’t just that. It was how …” he trailed off, gesturing dramatically with his hands, “... you were looking at yourself in that thing. You were observing the way you moved, seeing your entire being replicated in nothing but ones and zeros. When it crouched down to take a closer look at me I found myself staring intensely into its eyes. It was a moment, but far from edifying -”

“He didn’t like it, basically,” Jinsoul interrupted, sounding fed-up. “It creeped him out.”

“It had bothered me for a while, but I never really noticed it until the thing was right in front of me. And then I started to realise the masses of bodies standing in the workshop, growing in the fake incubators - all of those were _people_. Actual people, not things. If I could be replaced so easily with a hologram, then there really wasn’t much difference between myself and the replicants, was there?”

They moved back to the office, where Namjoon powered up his desktop and searched old Internet television archives for publicly available videos of the Wallace Nexus 7 launch briefing.

He was quiet for a long time, searching the files in the computer system with absorbed concentration.

“The live television footage is in the Wallace archive … somewhere.”

“I’ve never seen you on TV.”

“You wouldn’t have recognised me.” Namjoon scrolled down a page of old videos. “I don’t recognise the person in there anymore.”

Still, he managed to locate the file in the database. It was a very short clip, trimmed to the point.

Namjoon was standing at a podium in the middle of a stage, reading something out from a thick book that he’d placed on it. The camera panned out to reveal rows of humanoid metal prototype models of replicants. He talked for a few minutes more, a long rambling speech about specifications and new upgrades, what could be expected. The audio had been muted and Yoongi was reading the subtitles, trying to understand what he was saying.

Right down to the last minute, he played the perfect Wallace employee - precise, dedicated and intelligent.

And then, so suddenly that Yoongi thought he’d missed something, Namjoon raised his hand above the podium, giving a cue. The rows of metal bodies instantly crumbled, forming silvery pieces which piled on the floor on either side of him like heaps of coins.

Namjoon stared into the camera - defiant and challenging, something of his chipped-away youth present in that expression, before the footage was sharply cut off.

They stared at the blank screen for a few seconds. Yoongi pulled away from his hunch over the desk, blinking.

“They weren’t pleased,” Namjoon said. “I didn’t even get a written warning and now I’m on the run because Wallace wants me dead.”

“How did you do it?”

“A series of wirings and piped chemicals into the prototypes. Caused it to disintegrate from the inside-out, over the course of a few days. On the day of the presentation, all it took was a slight targeted electric pulse to make them all come apart.”

Yoongi was staring at him now.

“Even in the end, I couldn’t stop Wallace completely. The Nexus 8 was launched. Like I said - we’re not going to be able to change much by destroying things. The city will always pick itself up again. Too often, I think that rebellions are always trying to destroy things. But to _really change_ something, you’ve got to work from the bottom-up, from the inside-out.”

Here he reached for a stack of hard drives, which he’d labelled with letters and codes. Yoongi watched this performative gesture with apathy all over his face.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Halfaxa didn’t work because we tried to destroy the system. RFM is trying to change things from the inside. That’s why it’s growing, and staying so deep in secret that nobody can identify who the leaders or members are.”

“Someone told me that RFM developed from the ideas of Halfaxa.”

“They’re not wrong.”

“So you did bring the ideology there.”

“It came about naturally - people were curious about why I got expelled from school. Word gets around and everything went on from there. Once I put the idea out into the open, someone got hold of it, turned it into a completely different thing and spread that to everyone else.”

He stopped and regarded Yoongi gravely before going on.

“I didn’t create it. That’s a dangerous thing to assume. I lost control over it. Ideas are one of the most virulent kinds of diseases because they can mutate in each mind they occupy and become something else entirely.”

“Was losing the job worth it?’ Yoongi asked.

“Not on the financial front, but for better sleep, yes.” Namjoon rubbed at the side of his face. “I couldn’t let them roll out another line of disposable jobs just like that. I didn’t want to face-off with another batch of rejects in the workshop.”

“You think it cleared your conscience?”

“I guess you could say that what I’m doing now is to make up for everything that happened in the past.”

“But you don’t owe them anything.”

“I can’t. They’re all dead. But those models that we ran tests on, those we knifed right out of the incubation womb, it’s too many to count.”

“And you were a killer too.”

Namjoon placed the hard drive on the table in front of Yoongi.

“Working in Wallace, you get used to it. Death hangs everywhere. All births are as lonely as miracles.”

Yoongi stayed still, just watching him speak. Listened to the way his voice dropped in volume, like he was reading out runes from a book.

“The mirror,” Namjoon said didactically, turning to the full-length one in the room where all of them were reflected, “- can be a terrible thing. It takes your stare and turns it right back on you.”

\---

Yoongi went with Jinsoul to help her get the corpse on the train.

“You seem strangely on board with the whole idea.” Jinsoul’s overall attitude had lost that serrated, acidic edge, but Yoongi still kept his distance from her anyway. “Why do people like you get into the hunting profession, anyway?”

“I’m only sparing you because Namjoon said I had to.”

“Same here, I guess.” She paused. “You two had a falling out?”

Yoongi kept his eyes on the floor as they walked. “No. We were never friends.”

“How’d you know him, then?”

“A mutual acquaintance.”

The body was still bundled up, resting on the floor of the train. They rolled it over and carried it - one person on each end - walking back slowly down the length of the train. Mid-way, they had to step over the dead bodies of her fallen crew, all bleeding out onto the floor.

“We’ll have to clean that up too,” she said as they passed. “It’s not good for the eyes.”

“Should I feel bad?” Yoongi asked.

“I’m sure that’s part of your job.” A shadow crossed her features. “There’s nothing to feel bad about.”

The train creaked under their weight.

“Where were you taking him to?”

Yoongi was struggling at the front with only one arm holding into the knot of plastic.

“The incinerator,” she said after a while. “There’s one up near the road. An abandoned iron smelting factory wing. We dumped everyone else there.”

“Are we really going to carry this thing all the way up?”

“I’m not a messy killer.”

“But you left all the bodies on the platform on Saturday morning.”

“We needed to hijack a train to escape. Cue the killing frenzy to dispose of as many people as possible." She paused. "I’m sure you know what that feels like.”

Yoongi kept quiet. She seemed to think that he still wasn’t buying into it and grew slightly irritated.

“Namjoon knows about the killings but he doesn’t care, or pretends that it never happened. It’s easy to criticise others but when you need to do it for your benefit, it’s a different story.”

“You’re okay working with someone like that?”

“He was useful to us.” She glanced down at the corpse between them. “And I try to give human bodies a little more respect.”

Yoongi continued forward, not looking at her. After a few seconds, he turned back again.

“Why did you shoot the guy who did the test on you?”

“Because his questions made me angry.” Jinsoul paused, incredulous. “What’s it to you, anyway?”

Yoongi stepped out onto the platform. They walked across it, the body swaying between them.

“He could’ve died.”

“It wouldn’t have made any sense to kill him,” Jinsoul said after a beat. “Escape was the only thing on my mind.”

“You had the intention to injure him.”

“Well, he’s alive and my team is dead because of you. I still win in the end.”

They dragged the body up the dirty escalator steps on an old orange stretcher. Up at ground level, it was cold and foggy, the roads and sky painted in washed-out grey. A lone blimp trailed across the open space between the buildings, a sparkle of red lights decorating the underside.

Jinsoul sniffed. “We might as well be the only ones using the roads.”

She crossed without looking in either direction.

They carried him across the street, stepping into rainwater puddles as they walked. The sidewalks were dead-quiet, disintegrating advertisement posters and the occasional piece of litter drifting across the stone, carried by wind eddies.

The entire stretch of road was a line of industrial buildings and warehouses, with the occasional factory cooling pipe sticking out into the street. Knocked-over metal bollards wrapped with luminous plastic strips had collapsed on the sidewalk.

Jinsoul directed him to a tall smelting building at the end of the street, so old that it was covered in nothing but rust and accumulated sediment. Broken tube lights hung from the landing entrance; pillars scrawled with marker-pen graffiti. A smoke chimney tower with faded stripes stuck out of the roof.

“There’s a nursing home nearby,” Yoongi said. “It’s still operational.”

“Nobody ever comes out of there.” She gazed across the road, thousand-yard stare in her eyes. “This town is like a dumpster. Garbage just keeps piling up.”

They entered the dark facility, finding a large warehouse-style set-up, unused smelting furnaces built into the walls, various tools for poking firewood and a large body-sized cylindrical chamber which had been cleaned, the polished metal shinier than anything else inside the factory.

The rest of it was a messy scaffolding of rusted metal bars, pipes the width of cars and rectangular holes in the roof which let the weak wintery light in.

“Small town business,” Jinsoul commented, her voice echoing in the dusty air. “Family went away after the Blackout but most of the stuff in here is still operational.”

She found a spade and started shovelling charcoal and other pieces of combustible trash into the chamber from a large pit under the incinerator.

Yoongi watched her work in silence for a while. Even with a burn wound in her shoulder, she still moved surprisingly fast. The chamber base was filled in a few minutes.

“How’d you get him to agree to this, then?”

“He needed us more than we needed him.” Jinsoul pushed the shovel into the bed of trash with a grunt. “In a sense, the team took care of him. Became his servants, cleared out an entire train station for him to operate out of. He was the brain. He had no choice but to hold up his end of the bargain.”

“So this is a quid pro quo thing,” Yoongi said, helping her to load the bulky body in. “Nothing based on intrinsic morals.”

“Morals are just like magic,” she said, turning the gas flow knobs. “They’re airy concepts. You use them when you need to at the right time, and they can work wonders.”

The gas flared, a bullet-like series of snapping sounds.

“There’s nothing magical about that.”

“You don't seem to understand.” She glanced at him briefly. “How do you justify what you do?”

“This is just a job, like you said.”

“We ought to be incarcerated for what we’ve done.” She twisted another knob and a hiss of gas escaped the gaps in the chamber door. “But this is survival, isn’t it? Take away morality and you have stone-cold logic. That’s you. That’s what you are.”

“Did you get all this from Namjoon?” Yoongi said, stepping back as the furnace fired up. “Because I noticed that he’s fond of psychoanalysing people, including himself.”

“No.” Jinsoul stood where she was, watching the pressure valves. “Wallace programmed all this into me. I was born with an innate ability to ace the empathy test with nothing but four years’ worth of living experience.”

“You guys only lived with him for two months.”

“That’s magic for you.”

“I don’t believe in magic,” Yoongi grumbled. “Nobody here does.”

The body burned for twenty minutes. They were sitting cross-legged on the dirty floor, listening to the fire pop and crack inside the chamber.

“I had a squirrel back at the facility,” she began for no particular reason, picking at dust bunnies which had drifted across the ground. “It wasn’t a real squirrel, but we liked to pretend that it was. I always fed it at the end of the day. It was so lifelike - even got hungry and needed to shit and stuff.”

Yoongi watched her tear the dust clump apart.

“An electric animal,” he said. “An animoid.”

“Yeah, an electric animal. We kept it in a box. There was a toy wheel inside, one of those spinning exercise things for hamsters, only bigger - I’m sure you’ve seen it before - and everyday the squirrel would run on that damn thing from dawn to dusk.”

“Is this another one of your analogies?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Yoongi paused. “Proceed.”

“The mechanism inside the squirrel broke apart after a while, probably from over-exertion. Nobody noticed that the squirrel had stopped running except for me. I threw it away after that.”

“And then?”

“Nothing. I didn’t bother to find a repairman. There wasn’t one anywhere nearby, anyway.”

She placed one palm flat on the ground and leaned to the side against it, staring vacantly up at the ceiling.

“Why are you telling me this?” Yoongi asked.

“That,” Jinsoul said, “is a memory. I want someone to remember it for me. I’m not in the habit of doing this, so consider yourself lucky.”

“It’s not very interesting.”

“None of them are, Yoongi. I’m just doling them out like free candy to random humans I come across who I think have the brains to understand.”

“So did you tell Namjoon anything like this?”

“Some of it.”

“I’ll probably forget about it in a few days.”

The gas valves near the incinerator started to hum. Jinsoul turned around.

“You might. I don’t really care either way.” She got up with a grunt. “You definitely won’t forget talking to me, though.”

She tugged the furnace door open with a long clawed pair of tongs. Smoke poured out, the red-hot coal still glowing, white chunks of ash and brittle bone lining the remaining pieces of black powder and uncombusted rubbish.

“Goodbye, sir,” she whispered, before hammering down on the large chunks of bone with a rod. Yoongi stood behind and watched.

“I don’t know,” Yoongi said. “Burying him might have been easier.”

She drew the rod out and propped it up next to the furnace unit, walking to the other end of the incinerator. She pulled a lever at the other end. The two metal flaps at the bottom of the incinerator opened up, depositing the ashes into the pit of charcoal and trash below it.

“There isn’t a graveyard out here and there won’t ever be one,” she said, coming back and shutting the furnace door. “People die in places like these but they’re not buried here.”

“It seems peaceful enough.”

“Then your idea of peace is not the same as everyone else’s.”

“Are we done?” Yoongi asked, a little tired from all the bickering and waiting. He turned and walked to the exit, not bothering to look back at her or wait for an answer.

They moved outside in tired silence, stopping to stand just under the overhanging roof where loose wires were dangling dangerously close above their heads.

“I fucking hate this place,” Jinsoul conceded. “It’s nothing but a pile of degenerate trash. A shithole to die in.”

“You chose to put up with it.”

“I thought this expiry thing would come faster,” she said, eyes searching the road. “They said your body starts to rot away before your mind even registers it. Thought the city would be a nice place to rot away in. It might stink, but at least there are neon lights and dancing people. Nothing worse than dying in a place where everything else is already dead.”

“Wallace isn’t any different.”

“Symbolically, it is. Ever heard of the salmon? They’re extinct now, but they spawn and die in the same place. That’s what I’m going to do.”

They started back down the dust-blanketed street, Jinsoul carrying the folded stretcher under one arm. The orange of the fabric stood out against everything else in the surroundings.

“You have a lot of faith in Namjoon,” Yoongi said. “Is it an effect that he has on people?”

“Geniuses need their believers too, else they’ll never get anything moving.”

“That sounds just like the real squirrel running about inside a wheel.”

“What?”

“Your squirrel,” Yoongi said. “Guess that thing’s just like the rest of us. We’re not good enough to run anywhere else.”

In the office, Namjoon was neck-deep in paperwork. Yoongi found Jungkook sitting next to him, sorting through copious amounts of data on the computer screen.

“What’s that?” Jinsoul asked, walking over. Jungkook turned around and looked up at her, the wound of his split lip still shiny and raw-looking in the light.

“I’m getting him to help me search for strings of code in these large dataset files,” Namjoon explained, going through more lines on a sheet of paper with a ballpoint and a plastic ruler.

Yoongi leaned against the desk. “You said you had access to the Wallace database, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Could I by any chance borrow it?”

“What’d you want to search for?” Namjoon put his pen down and cracked the joints in his fingers.

“Jungkook’s records.”

Namjoon scooted over on his roller chair to the desktop, loading up a new application.

“He’s an escaped one, isn’t he.”

Yoongi met Jungkook’s eye. _Say something._

“He came for other reasons.” When there was no response, Yoongi continued, “namely because of his pre-programmed four-year lifespan. We’ve got a big problem with that.”

Jungkook pushed away from the desk to give Namjoon more space to use the keyboard.

“I - I had problems with my memory implants,” he said, twisting his hands on his lap, thumbs pressed tightly together.

“What kinds of problems?” Namjoon typed passwords into rows of empty fields on the screen.

Yoongi stood at the end of the desk, waiting.

“Seeing things that aren’t there. I actually went to find a designer before this.”

“What did they say?”

Jungkook hesitated. “This might sound strange.”

“You’re sitting here talking to two serial killers and a former Wallace employee. Go on.”

“Okay. It’s like - how do I put this?” Jungkook paused, searching for words. “My memories are ... lived, so that means they’re real. Does that make sense?”

Jinsoul snickered from her corner of the room.

“Real memories,” Namjoon said, still unfazed. Yoongi wondered how much it would take to break that sagely aura he tried to cultivate about himself. “Those are illegal. Someone must have pulled strings to get it done. Why you, though?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

Yoongi spoke. “We checked the records the other day but there are two people in the database. Two humans with the same DNA. We don’t know the orphanage name.”

Namjoon frowned, that deep-in-thought look on his face again.

“There’s something I didn’t tell anyone about, yet.” Yoongi walked over to the desk and took the silver dog tag out of his pocket, dangling it between them. “I found a box of remains at the killsite of one of my targets. This was inside.”

“Can I have a look?” Namjoon said, reaching for it.

Yoongi set it down on the table.

“That’s the tag that I remember seeing,” Jungkook said, his voice slightly excited. “Someone was giving it to me.”

“Who was this target?” Namjoon asked.

“A Nexus 8. Lived undercover for roughly four years. I suspect the remains were his wife’s. She was pregnant and died in childbirth.” Yoongi paused. “She was also a replicant.”

The silence that followed was flush with confusion and an uncanny calmness.

“That’s not possible,” Namjoon said. “I’ve never heard -”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jungkook interrupted, looking up at Yoongi. “How long did you know about this?”

Yoongi didn’t reply.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Namjoon said.

“They ran a lab test on the remains.” Yoongi reached for the tag, but Jungkook swiped it away from him. He didn’t attempt to take it back. “I knew about it a few days ago, but there were too many things I had to attend to. It slipped my mind. I’m sorry, Jungkook.”

Jungkook kept quiet.

“Okay. If she was pregnant, then there must be a child. Am I right?”

Yoongi nodded.

“But there never has been a child recorded anywhere. None that I’ve heard of, at least.”

Jinsoul was perched on the desk at the other end, flipping through an old gardening catalogue. She looked up.

“Maybe he’s the one,” she said nonchalantly. “Seems to add up, doesn’t it?”

Namjoon turned to face her. “Jungkook?”

“It makes logical sense. Thought that was your thing, Yoongi.” Jinsoul gave him a glance. “Surprised you haven’t figured it out by now.”

“I did. I just didn’t want to say it.”

“Even if he was, what would that mean?” Namjoon said. “That he’s got another eighty-plus years to live?”

“It means a lot to him.”

“And how is that even biologically possible?”

“He’s looking at you, former Wallace employee,” Jinsoul drawled, slowly turning the page of her catalogue. “Do something with your extraordinary powers of reasoning. Help them.”

Namjoon turned back to face the computer with a little shake of his head, like he was trying to clear his thoughts.

“How about we just go check those damned records.”


	9. within cells interlinked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which yoongi makes many phone calls and gets exhausted

They checked the damned records, which showed a simple, unremarkable profile for Jungkook’s incept biography. Nothing more, nothing less. He didn’t find confirmation of anything that might have suggested he was born, not made.

“This isn’t going to give you everything,” Namjoon said, watching Jungkook scroll through the contents of his profile. “Wallace clearly would’ve hidden any of this information if they knew. No one’s ever succeeded in inducing artificial human reproduction before and if Wallace did - it would be one of their most well-kept, closely-guarded secrets.”

Yoongi rubbed at his eyes.

Jungkook looked at Namjoon. “Are we ever going to be able to find out?”

“We can raid the place,” Jinsoul suggested with a grin. “I know where their archive room is, but it’s under remote security. And it’s all digitised. We might have to get a staff member to help us get in.”

“That’s out of the question,” Yoongi said. “We need to do it in secret.”

“Then we’ll do it in secret too.”

Yoongi didn’t like the expression on her face.

“What about the iris scanners?” he said. “They’ll pick up on both of you.”

“You can cover your face. But that will only get you so far. We’ll have to remove all the staff from the archive building before someone issues a directive for us to reveal ourselves.”

“Right,” Namjoon said, stopping his typing. “That sounds all good and proper. But I don’t know how much longer I can hide here without being found.”

“Find another station?” Jinsoul said, a weary note to her voice. “Although it’ll be harder to wipe out the entire service crew without the rest of them.”

Yoongi watched them discuss for a while.

“There’s a place where you can move to,” he said, when they’d all lapsed into silence. “But you’ve got to do it quickly.”

Namjoon turned to him. “Where?”

“It’s underground too. Quite a good spot for hiding.” Yoongi looked up at the wrinkled diagrams pinned to the wall above the table. “I think it’s about time for a reunion.”

Yoongi called Hoseok after that, asked him if he could drive down to the station in his knock-off limo cab.

They helped Namjoon to pack his papers into boxes. The desktop was huge and to be carried up the escalators by all four of them, Namjoon repeatedly telling them to _be careful_ with it.

“I’m sorry about killing the team,” Yoongi managed to say to him later, throwing all pride to the wind.

“What’s done is done.”

They waited up at the entrance by the road. Namjoon hung back, sitting on top of one of the boxes. He looked more haggard than ever, the sheer fatigue showing up in all those shadows on his face now that they were out in daylight.

“This Hoseok dude,” Jinsoul said, “is another mutual friend of yours?”

“The mutual friend I told you about.”

Yoongi turned back to shoot a glance at where Jungkook was sullenly standing next to the entrance. He still hadn’t said anything to him, slipping back into one of those moods of his again.

Yoongi couldn’t blame him, though.

He leaned against the glass on the other side, letting out a heavy exhale. They continued to wait.

Hoseok didn’t say as much as Yoongi had expected him to. He silently helped to pack the cartons into the boot, letting the three of them crowd into the back seats while Yoongi took the front.

When the cab moved, it was heavy. They could hear the cardboard boxes rubbing against each other at the back.

“This … is a rather dramatic turn of events, eh?” Hoseok said, letting out a laugh to ease the tension. He turned to Yoongi. “Funny that you should have found him here, of all places.”

“You can ask him about it when all of you get back to Taehyung’s.”

“Had a fight?” he said, looking at the blood on their clothes. “Who are those people?”

“People who are going to help me,” Yoongi said evenly. “They’re very important.”

“You got your bounty money yet?”

“No. It’s going to take some time.”

Hoseok was shaking his head, still smiling. He turned the wheel and they drove out of the dead-end town county towards the glittering city. The sky was getting dark again.

Taehyung was not in. Hoseok parked the car in the second garage and helped to unload the things right on the spot. Namjoon kept quiet the whole way, not daring to look up at any of them.

“He’d better stay here for now,” Hoseok said. “I don’t know if Taehyung -”

“Come on, you guys were friends.”

“Still.” Hoseok gestured. “I - this is truly unexpected. I don’t even own this place -”

“I have things to do,” Yoongi said, slowly feeling his patience slipping the leash. “Just let him stay here for now at least. Please.”

“How about - I call Taehyung?”

“Where is he?”

“Racing.”

“Call him,” Yoongi said. “Tell him we’re just borrowing the place.”

Hoseok hurried into the adjoining garage. Yoongi started hastily helping Namjoon to unload his papers as best as he could, following the original set-up which he had at the station.

“This doesn’t feel very safe,” Namjoon commented, surveying the room. “Anyone could just come in.”

“It’s his private garage,” Yoongi said, helping him to unpack his materials. “As long as you don’t leave the place, it’s unlikely that anyone outside will see you.”

They found an electrical point and powered up his desktop. Hoseok came back. He wasn’t smiling.

“Taehyung said it was fine,” he said, letting the rolling shutter down. “But, uh, he said that there’s been a small problem with you being here.”

Yoongi pushed a box over to Namjoon. “What is it?”

“Someone from Wallace has been going door-to-door, asking about a box of bones.”

Yoongi didn’t reply. The realisation sank in, the fact that someone could have seen him.

“Does he know who it was?”

“He said they tried to search his premises. I think Yves was there when it happened.” Hoseok scratched the side of his neck. “You can ask her. I don’t think I should get involved in any of this.”

Yoongi stood up, his eyes suddenly feeling very dry and tired. He looked around the space, thinking, then moved to the entrance.

“I’ll give her a call soon.” He looked from Hoseok to Namjoon. “Just ... don’t go anywhere for the time being. They’re probably already watching all of us.”

\---

Yoongi took the cart to the Aventine bookstore, this uneasy feeling of exhaustion dragging his feet down, making all his footsteps heavy and uncertain. He pushed through the door and went straight to the counter.

The boy wasn’t there today. A bored, mousy-looking girl was working on a Sudoku sheet behind the till.

“May I check if anyone from Wallace has come here?”

The girl put her pencil down, looked at him carefully through her cateye glasses. He was sweating with exertion, dabbing at the side of his face with the sleeve of his jacket.

“Wallace?”

“As in, any representative from Wallace.” Yoongi said it as politely and calmly as he could. “Asking about someone. Looking for someone.”

“I’m new. I don’t remember.”

“There’s a chemist working down there, right?”

The girl turned her head lazily to look at the backdoor.

“She’s busy at the moment.”

“Could you ask her about this?” he said, trying to stop himself from showing any exasperation in his voice. “This is very important.”

She looked him up and down, probably deciding on something, then got up and slowly descended the stairs. Yoongi focused on the Sudoku sheet to keep himself from fidgeting as he waited.

The girl eventually came back up and closed the door.

“Vanya said yes.” She seated herself on the stool and picked up her pencil, going back to the grids of numbers. “A lady from Wallace came here last week asking about one of her customers. Some human bones in a box.”

Yoongi located a public vidphone booth, cradling the receiver in his right shoulder as he took his coins out. It was green-lit and humid inside, the buttons of the phone unit greasy and damp with heavy use.

There was no response from Yves’s house. He tried calling the auction centre, asking if she had stopped by. The operator told him that she’d left half an hour ago.

Hanging up, Yoongi turned around to check if anyone was waiting outside the phone booth.

Through the glass, the road outside was packed and busy, all flashes of colour, but no one seemed to be standing nearby.

He phoned Taehyung’s garage. Hoseok picked up.

There were people talking in the background. That was a good sign.

“I can’t find Yves,” Yoongi said. “Any idea where she might be?”

“Auction center.”

“No. She left before we got here.”

“Try Omelas. She might have gone to see Jiwoo.” A pause. “I’ll give you the number.”

Yoongi took the rest of his spare change out and laid it on top of the phone unit, anticipating more calls.

Inhaling deeply, he made a quick call to the cafe. It rang for a long time. He thought no one was going to pick up, but someone did, at the last minute.

“ _Hello_ ,” It was Jiwoo. She sounded slightly breathless. “This is Omelas Cafe. Jiwoo speaking. How may I help you?”

“Jiwoo, this is Yoongi.”

A long pause. “Oh.”

“Just wanted to check if Yves is there.”

“Y - yes.”

“Could I speak to her?”

“Sure,” she said, a little too excitedly. Yoongi stuffed his hand into his pocket and waited.

He could hear girlish giggling in the background, something inaudible being said as the phone was passed over.

“Hello?”

“Yves, I needed to ask you something.”

“Yeah?”

“Hoseok told me that a Wallace representative came over last week to search Taehyung’s garage. Did they tell you who they were?”

Yves kept quiet for so long that Yoongi thought she’d hung up on him.

“... Are you there?”

“Yes.” She clicked her tongue. “It’s just - I don’t know if I should say this here.”

“Do you know the name?”

“She said something, but I might have misheard.” Yves hesitated. “She was really pretty. Wore a lot of red and knew your family name. She said they’d tracked a police car driving into Taehyung’s place.”

Yoongi reached out to pick his coins off the top of the phone, keeping them one by one in his pocket.

“Did she say anything else?”

“They were looking for remains. A box of it. I think someone saw you carrying it around and gave them a tip-off.”

Yoongi took the cart service back to Taehyung’s, closing his eyes all the way while trying to ignore the sweat and chatter of people crammed into the same cabin as him.

Wallace was watching. They’d been watching him the whole time.

Blaring announcements from the public broadcast system gave warnings on stiff penalties imposed on people who were still using neurocables, and encouraging people to go back to traditional phone calls or using the Hivemind with a good old computer.

He pushed the shutter up as quietly as he could and let it back down, walking over to where Hoseok and Namjoon were seated cross-legged on the floor. Jinsoul was kneeling on the ground near a few other unpacked boxes, reading through stacks of notes.

They looked up at him as he came in.

“What did she say?” Hoseok asked.

“It’s the Wallace representative I spoke to a while ago,” Yoongi said, rubbing at his forehead with the back of his hand. “She’s probably looking for the remains, not me.”

“Then we’ll have to get them first,” Namjoon said. “I was asking Jungkook and we decided that I should do a comparison. A simple DNA check to see if there’s any genetic match between the mother and him.”

“Can you do that anytime soon?”

“If you can bring me to the lab in your office, I can find something.”

“You should bring a sample back instead,” Jinsoul said. “Break up the evidence. Make it harder for them to get everything at once.”

Silence. Hoseok frowned slightly, trying to follow their line of conversation.

“You think they’d have traced it back to your office by now?” he said.

“I don’t know. I haven’t been back there for some time.”

“I’m pretty sure I can try to do something here,” Namjoon said, turning around to look at his desktop. “Or you could collect a basic test kit from the office lab, if you’re going to do what Jinsoul said.”

“How hard is it to conduct this test?”

“I can get it done in a day. Just extract, copy, visualise. Standard Wallace procedure.”

“So you’ll go to the office,” Namjoon said, fixing him with a steady gaze. “Bring half of the remains back, with a DNA test kit. I’ll analyse it and tell you if it matches up.”

Yoongi was nodding along.

“And if not?”

Namjoon grinned. “Then you’ll go to Wallace with Jinsoul and raid their archives.”

Hoseok agreed to drive him back to the office.

“You guys were talking so fast,” he said, pulling out of the garage. “I couldn’t catch most of it, but it sounds pretty urgent.”

Yoongi kept quiet. The gesture warmed him a great deal, even though he didn’t have the energy to elaborate.

“How did they get so hurt?” Hoseok said, signalling to turn out to the main road.

“Something happened.” Yoongi gave a one-shouldered shrug. “A misunderstanding. You managed to talk to Namjoon?”

“Not yet. He was more focused on setting up that ancient desktop model.”

“It’ll take him some time.” Yoongi leaned back, all the joints in his body aching.

“Now he’s got a job to do, and if he’s helping you -” Hoseok smiled faintly. “- I think I should help too.”

The radio was switched on, some public announcements made on the state of the Datura situation. The replicant infection toll in the city had climbed past ten thousand.

“That can’t be right …” Hoseok said. They had stopped at a traffic junction. “I thought they’d already contained it over there.”

“It had to come sooner or later,” Yoongi said. “I don’t think Wallace can cover this up now.”

Hoseok dropped him off a short distance away from the block.

“Since I’m all the way out here, I might as well run a few errands,” he said, pulling up by the pavement. “Won’t take long. Just give me a ring when you’re ready and I’ll be right over.”

Yoongi kept close to the buildings, moving quickly to the office. He went straight up to find Yeojin. The building was mostly dark inside. Good.

“If it isn’t Mr Yang’s most-tortured employee of the month,” she said, giving him a sympathetic grin as he staggered into her office. “Whaddya need?”

“Lab,” Yoongi said, trying his best to return her good-natured attitude. “Someone’s on my tail. I need to run.”

“Who?” she was pressing buttons on the master locking system panel.

“Wallace.” He watched her, holding onto the doorframe. “If anyone by the name of Jungeun comes around asking for me, tell her I’ve already quit the service.”

Yoongi checked the time and made sure he’d locked the door, then quickly hunted for a test kit in the drawers. He went to the room where the safes were kept, and found the lab technician standing there, stowing some samples away.

He went straight to the rows of lockers, checking their case file labels. Sumire’s box was tagged to Citadel’s citizen case number. He asked the lab technician to help him unlock it.

“What are you taking these for?” he asked.

Of course he had to ask. Yoongi took a deep breath.

“Borrowing them. I need to get something examined.”

The lab technician didn’t look convinced, but went to a filing cabinet and slowly pulled one of the drawers open.

“You’ll have to fill out a form.”

Yoongi took the urn out and started transferring a few pieces to a clean resealable bag.

He dialled for Hoseok’s cab with the phone in the room and waited at the lobby, the items concealed inside his crossbody pack.

On the way back, Hoseok was oddly silent. He had a few filled plastic bags in the backseat containing groceries, nothing very strange, but he still wasn’t acting like himself. Yoongi didn’t say anything, only waited for the inevitable. Hoseok didn’t keep problems to himself for long, not especially if he was upset. This looked like it was something else - something more immediate.

“Hyung,” Hoseok finally said, sounding nervous. “There’s this hovercraft that’s been following me around.”

There was silence as Yoongi briefly canvassed the surrounding road.

“Which one?”

“Behind, left-hand. The one with dark windows.”

Yoongi leaned over slightly to check the side mirrors.

“Drive into a side road,” he said. “I want to see what it does.”

He did. They made a few turns and ended up zooming along a stretch of isolated tenement housing with high overarching webs of telephone and power cable lines. Hoseok eventually stopped by the side of a road, leaving the engine idling.

Yoongi sat up a little higher. “Is it still there?”

Hoseok checked his mirrors, opened the door and leaned out slightly to look up at the sky.

“No.” He touched the dashboard, as if trying to feel for something, then drew his hand back. “I could’ve sworn that I lost something along the way. The car doesn’t feel right.”

They both got out and walked in a full circle around the vehicle, looking at the body. Hoseok eventually stopped at the back and pointed at a bare patch at the back.

Yoongi went over to take a look. The license plate was gone.

“When do you think it dropped off?” he said.

“I’m not sure.” Hoseok had his hands on his hips. “Gonna have to file for a replacement.”

They got back into the cab and sat in silence for a while.

“I think we should drive quickly,” Hoseok eventually said. “I wouldn’t like to find out what it wants.”

Later, at Taehyung's, Yoongi passed the fragments and test kit to Namjoon.

“Call me if you find anything,” he said before moving off. “I’m not going to come back here until we resolve this.”

“Something happened?” Namjoon said, looking worried.

“Wallace is tracking me. I don’t know how, but if I keep coming back here they might raid it the next time. I don’t want to put Taehyung in danger.”

A long silence.

“Take care, then,” Namjoon said, his voice somber. “I’ll do my best.”

\---

He took the train back with Jungkook. They stood in silence, not saying anything until they reached the stop. The platform was bustling with people, pastel-coloured ponchos clashing with dark trench coats, glossy puffer vests and face masks, people closing their wet parasols like flowers wilting up in the storm.

They took the long road back under the line of fire escapes and a glowering dusky sky, shadows trailing behind them in the orange streetlights.

“What if they’re tracking me?” Jungkook said, as they were walking back from the station to his apartment. “You put that thing into my neck, didn’t you?”

Yoongi stopped in the middle of the footpath and stared at him with glazed-over eyes.

“You’re right. We should take it out,” he said slowly, then stopped, his laboured breathing suddenly very audible in the after-rain silence of the alley. “I just … don’t know how.”

“If I stayed at your apartment, would they know?”

“Maybe not. But we can try.”

They kept walking, passing flat puddles and garish sidewalk graffiti. Yoongi couldn’t seem to focus on anything that he saw.

The courtyard was getting dark. They waited in front of the elevator, watching the numbers on the display slowly change.

A rattling sound somewhere above made Yoongi look up to the parapet of the floor above him. There was nothing. He turned back, scanning the courtyard. No one.

He couldn’t shake off that feeling of being watched. Like how it was, sitting with Hoseok in the car.

A heavy thump landed on the floor above them, loud enough for Jungkook to take notice.

They exchanged silent glances.

Yoongi looked up and saw someone crouching on the edge of the second-floor parapet. It was too dim for him to make out a clear face, but he managed to glimpse black cloth obscuring most of her features and brown braided hair, before something was thrown down at him.

He instinctively raised his hands over his head and ducked. The object clattered to the gravel and rolled a short distance away. When he looked up again, the person was gone.

It was late and he was too tired to shout out anything, telling himself that it was probably one of the kids playing games in the corridors. He went over and picked up the cylindrical object, realising it was an empty can of spray paint.

There were red smears near the nozzle.

After they went up, he found out why. Jungkook had exited the elevator first, but stopped in front of the unit.

A cobweb of angry red numbers, painted over the entire door. The same 1057 repeated over and over again but this time in some highly stylised font made with a stencil.

Yoongi took a few small steps back, as if the sight of it frightened him.

The work was highly detailed, enough for him to realise that some recurring letters had been looped through the numbers themselves, forming a kind of intricate signature. The person who did it had obviously given some thought as to how much space they needed.

How long had they been observing him, exactly?

Yoongi looked around, a little disconcerted, then steeled himself and went over with the keycard, pushing the door open. He stood in the doorway for a beat, hand unsteadily going to the lightswitch.

Nothing looked out of place inside. They took their shoes off and padded in quietly. Yoongi moved straight to the couch, tumbling down onto it with a groan.

“I don’t understand,” Jungkook said in a small voice. “It’s always the same number.”

“I might actually be sick,” Yoongi said with a bitter chuckle, all the energy going out of his body. “Do you remember what Yves said about being hunted? Maybe this is payback time.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Jungkook murmured, sitting down next to where Yoongi’s head was resting. He took the dog tag out and gently placed it on his chest, which was rising and falling with exhausted effort. “I’m sorry for taking this just now.”

Yoongi looked down, but didn’t touch it.

“Are you still angry?” he said after a while.

“I shouldn’t be.”

Yoongi looked up at him for a few seconds, examining the dark stains under his chin and bruised cheeks. Jungkook stared back, curious. Like he was trying to study something.

“Go wash your face,” Yoongi said, breaking eye contact. “It’s filthy.”

Yoongi fell asleep without dinner, dead to the world for twelve hours, and woke up at dawn the next day. He wiped the morning crust from his eyes and saw the water stains on the ceiling.

The room was dark, just the barest amount of light coming in from the shut balcony door. He rolled over, forgetting that he wasn’t on the bed, and nearly fell off the couch. All his limbs were aching and his feet were numb.

He pulled himself to the bathroom and forced himself to brush his teeth, sitting on the closed lid of his toilet to check the wound on his knee. It had crusted over, some pus showing in the cracks of the scab, but it didn’t really hurt anymore. The pain in his shoulder had dulled to an irritating ache when he kept it in the right position; a sharp sting when he didn’t.

Then, still in a daze about the previous day’s events, he unlocked the front door and stepped outside to cold winds and rainwater mist. The graffiti was still there.

Stop imagining things, he thought, having a staredown with it. Someone’s really coming to get you.

Yoongi went into his room, finding Jungkook curled up on the bed, and dug through his drawers until he found his old instant film camera. He took a photo of the door, checked the printout for clarity and went back in.

There were two missed calls on the cordless phone screen. He sat on the couch with the printout and the dog tag, lit a cigarette and checked the numbers.

One from Taehyung’s landline, another from the office. No voice messages.

He called Taehyung first. The phone rang for a long time before a sleepy-sounding voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Taehyung,” Yoongi said, trying his best to sound energised. “Did you try to call me?”

A long pause.

“No. Maybe Namjoon did. He was working till late last night.”

“Is he awake?”

“No. Passed out …” Taehyung yawned, a deep hollow sound. “Passed out on the floor, after eating fishcake.”

“Never mind. Can I ask you something?”

“Okay.”

“I have a photo that I need to show you. You’ll have to enable your video screen.”

A long pause. “Hang on.”

The display unit on the side table lit up. Yoongi leaned over and moved it slightly so that the monitor was facing him.

Taehyung’s slightly puffy face, still unshaved. He was rubbing at his chin and yawning again.

“What is it?”

“This photo,” Yoongi said, holding the instant printout to the screen. “Some kind of artwork outside my door. It’s the second time this month.”

There was a long pause. Yoongi watched Taehyung’s expression turn from stoned-out indifference to something that suggested a sliver of recognition.

“That’s amazing.”

“It’s amazing, yes. Do you recognise the signature?”

“Vivi,” Taehyung said with confidence. He leaned in closer to the screen. “Looks like her work.”

“Vivi?” Yoongi repeated, not quite sure if he’d heard him right.

“That’s what she goes by in the underground circles. Some people say her real name is Viiane Wong. She’s very secretive and elusive, though. I have never seen her in person.”

“Do you know why she might have done this?”

“She’s a street artist. One of those things you call skinjobs.” Taehyung paused to reply to someone else in his room, their muffled voices audible in the background. “She’s also an activist for a social rights group, if I recall correctly. Her work is more famous than she is.”

“As in, the replicant freedom movement.”

“Yeah. Something to do with them. I don’t know her very well but she’s got a distinctive stencilling style. Very clean lines, sharp and precise. I like it.”

Yoongi set the photo down on the table. He didn’t want to say anything about seeing Viiane on the second-floor parapet of his apartment.

“Is this an occasion to celebrate? That an underground artist actually made the pains to come up to the city and right to your doorstep to paint a masterpiece on it?”

“I don’t think she did it for my benefit,” Yoongi murmured. “It feels more like a warning.”

“Of your work?” Taehyung paused. “Because you’re arresting them?”

“Yes.”

“She must have a point, then. All artworks do. It wouldn’t do you any harm to just ignore it.” Taehyung paused, looking to the left. “Oh, Namjoon’s here. He wants to talk to you.”

The sound of a chair being scraped back on the floor. Namjoon seated himself in a series of clumsy motions, checked some notes he was holding with excessive cautiousness before leaning close to the screen to see if Yoongi was there.

He looked like he was preparing for a video conference.

“Progress?” Yoongi said hopefully.

“Here to give you the typical good news-bad news story.” Namjoon held a small memory storage card up for him to see. “This contains the first code of the working anti-malware programme that we’re going to upload. Jinsoul and Yves are already on their way to your house with duplicates.”

“Does this mean -”

“Yes.” Namjoon said, more excited than Yoongi had ever seen him look. “Yes. We _might_ have a working cure.”

“... You’re a genius.”

“Thank you. But we won’t know whether it’s really effective until we test it out on the intra-network. We’re talking about large-scale spreading here. We want the thing to spread through the Hivemind like a counter-virus. I’m intending to ask Taehyung to try it out on the one he uses for playing games.”

“He told you about it?”

“We were all discussing this last night. I briefed them on the problem, and he said he wouldn’t mind helping.”

Yoongi couldn’t help laughing.

“Did you guys - you know, patch up?”

“I don’t know. It looks good for now, but we’re all really busy. No one really has the time to sit down and talk. I only saw Yves and Jimin late last night. Yves heard that I’d come back and rushed down just to see all of us.”

Yoongi took the cigarette out of his mouth and looked about for an ashtray, then remembered that he didn’t have one.

“Anyway - I might need you to locate some kind of intra-network in your vicinity, one that you have access to. Upload the file into the local system and let it install the programme. You can give me the IP addresses and I’ll monitor the online activity after that.”

There was a cybercafe downstairs where every resident had been registered in; he never really used it because he didn’t like the whole idea of connecting to the Hivemind either. It could probably be of some use now, though.

“When do you need me to do this?”

“As soon as possible, maybe immediately after the girls get to your place.” Namjoon looked back down at the pieces of paper in front of him. “I also found something interesting from the DNA analysis. May be good or bad, depending on how you look at it.”

Yoongi was playing with the dog tag on the table, turning it over and over.

“I checked the samples taken from the bone fragments and Jungkook. They’re not related. You might have to go to Wallace if you want to search for more information.”

There was a long pause before Yoongi replied.

“Means the child must be someone else.”

“Either that, or this isn’t an isolated case.” Namjoon sat back, clasping his hands behind his head. “I’ll be damned. This was going on for years and I had no idea that replicant reproduction was even possible.”

Jinsoul and Yves arrived soon enough. Jungkook stared at them uncomprehendingly as they walked into the apartment.

“Hello again,” Yves said pleasantly, nodding at him. She was wearing a black turtleneck dress under a transparent yellow raincoat with the texture of crumpled plastic, carrying a sackcloth bag with several thick books inside it. “I’ve decided to join you in your conquest of Wallace. Brought my research materials.”

Jinsoul came in behind her, carrying a waterproof pouch.

“The goods,” she said, passing them to Yoongi. “Take it and do what you have to do.”

He unzipped the pouch and scrutinised the label on the card. Namjoon had carefully written numbers on each one, all part of some larger alphanumeric categorical system that he used to document his work.

“I didn’t believe Jimin when he called me,” Yves said, and Yoongi noticed that she was carrying a tiny revolver in her left hand. “Jimin said, _Namjoon came home,_ like he was talking about some prodigal son returning, and I thought he was joking.”

Jinsoul walked over to the couch and sank down onto it, grabbing one of the magazines on the coffee table and flipping through it with scant interest. 

“Is it a big deal for you humans?” she said, “to have what you call homecoming parties?”

“That was Jimin’s idea. He likes that kind of thing.”

“You guys threw a party?” Yoongi had been listening to all this with incredulity. “Didn’t think that was your style.”

“It wasn’t planned,” Yves laughed, going over to join Jinsoul on the couch. “Jimin bought a cake on the way there and they got Jiwoo to send some boxed-up fried shrimp and fish cake things by - get this - _express delivery_. I didn’t even know her family did food deliveries.”

“Are you guys finally talking?”

“Sure we are. Hoseok loosened up last night, just got him a lot of that makgeolli and rum-n-raisin ice cream.” She saw the amused expression on Yoongi’s face and grinned. “Later Namjoon kind of spoiled the whole mood by telling everyone about the Datura problem.”

“Hey, hey,” Jinsoul called, waving her hands at Yoongi from the couch. “We’ve got a job to do. Can we get back to that?”

The cybercafe on the first floor was largely empty and dark, the desktop units concentrated around circular tables decorated with blue and purple fluorescent bars. A large glowing palm tree neon sign had been affixed just above the front desk, where the holographic lady on duty gave him a bright welcoming smile.

Yoongi went to the key cabinet and searched for his registered USB tag, then plugged it behind the monitor. He slotted the card into a reader and sat down, pushing himself from side to side on the swivel chair while waiting.

It took a shorter time than he expected. Namjoon had promised it would be easy to install and run. Yoongi hoped their attempt at Wallace would be equally effective.

He found a pen and carefully wrote the IP address down on his palm.

Back at the apartment, Yoongi could hear someone washing something inside the bathroom sink, a sound that made him close the door and stand in the entryway for a brief moment, trying to figure out what was going on.

Someone was talking inside - probably Jinsoul, from the sound of the voice.

He walked in. Yves was sitting on the couch, reading another one of her books. Her legs were crossed and her posture was tense, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to be there.

And then he saw Jungkook crouching on the floor next to the couch with a wad of crumpled bloody tissues next to him. He went over, alarmed.

“ _What_ are you doing?”

Jungkook turned around and saw him. He raised his hands up, trying to explain. “I told them -”

“Move it.” Jinsoul brushed Yoongi aside, holding a pair of scissors, the blades dripping with water. “We’re trying to dig out the tracker. He said it’s leading Wallace to us.”

Yoongi caught the metallic whiff in the air, a smell that he was all-too familiar with.

“You shouldn’t be using that.” He took the scissors away from her. “I have tweezers in the first-aid kit.”

Jinsoul held her hand out, this challenging glint in her eyes.

“Bring it here, then.”

He went to his bedroom to get the box, already regretting the decision to leave them all alone in his apartment.

“Why didn’t you take yours out when you came?” Jinsoul asked Jungkook later, opening the lid of the case. “Afraid of the pain? You don’t seem like the candy-ass type to me, just saying.”

“I put it into him,” Yoongi said, sitting on the armrest of the couch, not really wanting to watch the gory show. “Thought he’d try to escape again.”

Jinsoul sneered. “He wouldn’t have anywhere to escape to.”

A stifled silence, mixed with the sickening sounds of metal picking at flesh.

“You told me he was your assistant,” Yves said, holding the tissue to the back of Jungkook’s neck as Jinsoul prodded for the tracker. “He played that role convincingly enough.”

Watching them work from a distance, Yoongi found himself realising, maybe for the first time, how completely silent Jungkook had been - feeling and accepting what happened to him without much resistance. He’d also taken so much physical trauma to his body that Yoongi wondered how it was still holding up.

Sure, he’d had a defect in his pain receptor system when he was created, but sometimes the look on his face suggested some other kind of pain that wasn’t of the physical kind at all.

Yoongi had no idea what to do about that.

Jinsoul taped a piece of gauze down over the back of Jungkook’s neck, tearing off the end of the surgical tape with her teeth. Yves chided her for doing that and handed her a pair of forcep scissors from the kit.

“Does every replicant get one of these?” Yves said, picking up the small bloody tracker.

“It’s inserted into you from the time you’re created,” Jinsoul explained, now awkwardly snipping at the surgical tape with forceps. “I mean, you can always take it out, but it’s usually messy and difficult. It’s also illegal.”

Yves passed it to Jungkook.

“I kept mine too,” Jinsoul said, pasting another strip to cover the gauze. “Just broke it into half, but I carried it around. Don’t know why. Now it seems like a pretty stupid move to me.”

Jungkook broke his tracker and took it to the balcony.

“Wouldn’t it be dangerous to just throw it out on the street like that?” Yves said. “What if Wallace finds it?”

“It’s already dead.” Jungkook held the broken pieces up in the palm of his hand. “See?”

“You can burn it,” Jinsoul suggested, taking hers out of her pocket and showing it to them. “We’ll build a celebratory bonfire when all this shit is over.”

Yoongi sat on the couch and dialled Mr Yang’s extension after that, still staring at the _three missed calls_ noted on the display unit. Mr Yang didn’t redial unless something serious was up.

The conversation was short and clipped, right to the point.

“Yoongi, there’s a fresh case. I need you to keep your eyes peeled. This one’s a former employee. Stelline Labs.”

The name jolted him to attention. He sat up, pressing the cordless closer to his ear.

“When?”

“Escaped yesterday night. They had a security breach because some alarms went off so they sent a squad to check the place, found it razed and burned to the ground.”

Mr Yang paused. Something was beeping loudly somewhere in the office.

“Wallace marked this as a top-priority case. I’ll need you to come down to the office by today to collect the profile sheet. _Goddamnit_ , give me a second -” there was a snapping sound and the beeping stopped, “- its name is Olivia Hye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [imagine yves in this though](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/a8/cc/7d/a8cc7de7e6ef0674ecce3ab24d27dbd7.jpg)


	10. 1057 at dawn

Namjoon hadn’t called back with the prototype test diagnostics yet. Not that they were expecting him to find out so soon, but Jinsoul was getting antsy about the final trip out to Wallace while they packed up in the darkness of mid-afternoon. Yves agreed to stay back in the apartment with Jungkook and wait for the call from Namjoon.

Yoongi had broken the news about the results of the DNA analysis to them and they decided to head over to Wallace for the raid that Jinsoul was only too excited to propose. He’d asked the office to finally loan him a spinner so he could leave the city to find Olivia. Yeojin said he could drive down in the car and collect it from the office that evening.

They stood outside in dim blue city light, jackets tugged on, shivering slightly in the cold wind. Jinsoul was lacing up her shoes outside the door.

He traded the muddy cop car for a spinner at the office. They took off from a secluded side street, Yoongi struggling with the throttles for a while, but finally getting back into the hang of it. It had been a while since he’d taken one of these things out. Jinsoul sat in the neighbouring pilot seat, poring over Olivia’s profile documents which he had left on the dashboard.

“I’ve seen her before,” she said, holding up the ID photo. “She works for Wallace, doesn’t she?”

“That’s the memory designer.” Yoongi gave her a sidelong glance. “I’m sure everyone knows her.”

“She’s your last target?”

“She escaped. I have to find her.”

Jinsoul leaned forward, watching his face intently. “Find, or kill?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“What did she do?”

“She didn’t kill anyone, for starters.” Yoongi rubbed under his nose and sniffed. “Just burned down the place.”

“If there were staff in the building, she might have killed someone.”

Yoongi ignored that thought. “We don’t know why she escaped.”

“You can also look for the footage there.” Jinsoul slotted the documents back into the envelope. “Since we’re headed for their archive room.”

“Yes. We’re going to have to depend on you for that,” Yoongi said. “I’ve never gone any further than the blackout centre.”

“This place is way bigger than the blackout centre. It’s a whole goddamned labyrinth.”

He didn’t reply. The spinner lazily made its way out of the city, crossing over into grey wastelands, sand-smothered buildings and polluted orange light.

\---

The archive building was the centrepiece of Wallace’s establishment. Entering the building alone wasn’t a problem, but getting into the archive chamber was. The place was armed with cameras, requiring one to pass through multiple iris and facial-scan gantries.

They lingered in the lobby for a while. Jinsoul grew restless, fiddling with her surgical mask. They were wearing them to avoid being detected by facial recognition.

“Are you going to knock anyone out, or shall I have to?”

“That wasn’t what I had in mind when I wanted to check the archives.”

“I didn’t say it was a raid for nothing.”

Yoongi looked around the place, checking for cameras. There were too many of them to shoot out without causing a commotion. He moved further into the lobby, being mindful that Jinsoul was following behind.

There was someone on duty, a guard of some sort. Holographic screens floating about his face. Something in his expression and features told Yoongi that the guy wasn’t human.

He stopped at the corner turn, slipping back behind the wall. Jinsoul crept up behind him.

“The cameras will have picked up on us,” she said tersely. “Are you just going to stand here?”

“You can take that guy out,” Yoongi said. “Cut this building’s comms off from the rest of the compound.”

“What about the cameras?”

“I’ll shoot out the cameras.”

“And the staff?”

“What staff?”

“Did you not see them? The ones inside - after the gantries, you’ll have to pass by more of them. I can’t handle so many at one time.”

Yoongi sighed, rubbing at his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. She watched him for a few seconds, then snapped her fingers at his face.

“Get yourself together. You’ll have to shoot them all, I don’t care.”

Before he could protest, she was already moving off to the guard post. Yoongi didn’t stay to watch, going back to the main lobby. He walked along the walls where the light was the weakest, aiming at the cameras and wincing with all the noise that it took to get his accurate shots. Metal and glass shattering, ceiling fixtures accidentally clattering to the floor.

He was bracing himself for an alarm to go off at any moment, and the anticipation of it made him jumpy. He reached the end of the row and walked back, keeping his footsteps as light as possible.

But nothing sounded. He presumed she’d successfully disabled the burglar system in one way or another. He darted back down the corridor, nearly colliding with her on the way.

She had an emanator in one hand.

“Where did you get that from?” Yoongi asked, noticing it.

“Broke his neck. The people here are all holograms. They can’t do anything to us.”

They went to the gantries, Jinsoul holding out the emanator. The staff had spilled out into the lobby, looking around and trying to ring back to the headquarters through their floating control panels. When they spoke, there was no sound. She’d somehow managed to cut off the sound system as well.

Jinsoul held the emanator up.

“This should do it,” she said, crushing it in one hand. Like a lightbulb going off, the holograms flickered and disappeared. She dropped it on the floor.

“You see, sometimes technology doesn’t beat the real thing.”

Yoongi shook his head at her - half-impressed, half-amused - and they entered the chamber.

It was, as she had described, a labyrinth. Five continuous storeys of information stored in clustered tall white shelves, each shelf packed with smaller drawers. He gazed up at the giant structure, wondering how Wallace had managed to build something like that. The shelves and tracks which ran through the middle of the chamber seemed to be suspended in thin air.

There was an elevator platform which allowed them to move up and down to access the different levels, which could be navigated with a joystick. The place was dark, except for small white lights which were fixed at alternate intervals between floors.

They got stuck on the first floor.

Jinsoul pushed his hand away and tugged on the controls herself.

“What the deal with this damn thing?”

Nothing moved.

“An iris scan,” Yoongi suggested, tapping on the glass panel beside the joystick.

She stared at it for a beat and groaned loudly, stepping off the platform to fetch the dead guy.

He was dragged over by one arm, the rest of his body mass tugging along like a sack of potatoes on the floor.

“Would you believe this load of crap,” she muttered, pulling his head up and turning it to the glass. Yoongi pulled his eyelids open. They waited, agonisingly holding onto the body, then let go of him and dragged him back outside when the scan cleared.

Now they were moving.

Yoongi searched the shelf numbers while Jinsoul piloted the platform around. They went up to the second floor. He leaned out slightly, checking each label. These were all old dates, Nexus 5, all the way to the pioneer models created by Tyrell.

“One floor up,” Yoongi said. “We’re too far back.”

The next floor contained records of the Nexus 7s, models which existed pre-blackout. Somewhere in there, he could probably find Sumire’s files.

“Just move along this row,” he said, gesturing down. She slowed the pace and they cruised down, following the track by the shelf. Yoongi followed the numbers, which were arranged in ascending order.

“Stop.”

The platform jerked to a halt. He reached out and pulled the drawer with Sumire’s citizen code on it. There was nothing inside but a small clear card, a replica of the ones they kept at the Blackout Centre. He took that out and brought it to the control panel, where he studied the interface for a slot to put it into.

Jinsoul’s hovering finger fell on a thin rectangular hole. She pushed on it, and a card slot popped out.

“Try this,” she said.

He pushed it in, let the console read it. An information screen showed up with basic details, descriptions and a portrait. Yoongi found himself staring at Sumire’s face for the first time. She had soft features, but a closer look indicated something hard and bitter which had taken up residence behind her eyes.

“You know this woman?” Jinsoul asked, noticing his silence.

“That’s the lady who we thought was Jungkook’s mother.”

They gazed at her face with a kind of reverent silence.

“It isn’t indicated anywhere that she’s dead, though,” Jinsoul pointed to the empty field. “They don’t even know if she’s alive.”

“She escaped. The officer who found her didn’t report back on the status, evidently. Looks like it’s still a cold case.”

“They did indicate that she was pregnant. So they knew?”

Yoongi was already trying to think back to what he remembered of Citadel’s farm. The way the box had been buried, Citadel’s occupation. He still couldn’t ignore the thought that Citadel, Sumire and Jungkook were all part of the same family in one way or another.

“Maybe that’s why they sent Jungeun to hunt me down,” he murmured. “Because I asked about her model number. That raised an alarm, so they started tracking me. They were looking for her remains to close the case.”

“But why wouldn’t Namjoon have known?”

“It’s an anomaly. Maybe Wallace didn’t want anyone to know, not even their employees.”

“She doesn’t have anything to her name either.” Jinsoul tapped on the screen. “That’s strange.”

“Replicants back then didn’t own anything. They weren’t allowed to possess things.”

“It’s so … disquieting.” Jinsoul said, looking up with a soft sigh. “No matter who we are, at the end of the day all that’s left of us is kept in a little box.”

Yoongi ejected the card from the slot and returned it to the drawer. “Let’s check Jungkook’s details.”

“Do you want to try the other side?” she suggested, pointing. “Seems like this entire wall contains records from Nexus 6 models.”

“Sure.”

They ascended a floor up and went around the circumference of the chamber to reach the other side. Nexus 9 model units far outnumbered the Nexus 6s. No seventh-generation: all scrapped, and the whole eight-generation was lost in the blackout. The amount of data to look through was staggering, Yoongi thought, looking at the massive wall in front of them. All those thousands of units spread throughout the planet, even on other planets as well. All of their data consolidated in this building.

“You know,” Jinsoul said, scrutinising the control panel. “I believe there’s a way we can make this thing do the searching for us.”

Yoongi walked over to take a look. She was trying to access the floor map on screen, typing the first three digits of her own serial number into the query bar. It directed them to a particular highlighted section of the chamber.

“Let’s try that.”

She moved the joystick, taking them higher up and winding through more rows of dark shelves.

“I see Nexus 9 numbers,” Yoongi said. “This should be the place. Now we just have to carefully check for Jungkook’s.”

They moved along the shelves, each person scanning the labels on either side. Jinsoul suddenly stopped the platform.

“I think I’ve got it.”

Yoongi turned around and went over to where she was, leaning slightly out over the railings. She was pointing at the small label on the drawer. Yoongi motioned for her to open it.

The same data chip, embedded in the clear glass cards. There was a space for a memory orb as well, which was still empty. Yoongi tried not to look at it and took the card out.

His data query loaded up an alert page of his current status - RETIRED. Jinsoul gave him a confused look.

“I had to submit his death report because Wallace was looking for him.”

“Is that why he can’t enter?”

“We’re not sure if they cleaned his record off the database.” Yoongi shook his head. “Didn’t want to risk entering yet.”

“We should just do it for them, then.” Jinsoul paused. “It’s quite simple. We’ll just remove the data cards. The scanners won’t be able to match our faces to a record in the system and we’ll be allowed through.”

The ringing silence of the chamber suddenly became too overbearing.

Yoongi rested his hands on the control panel. “But that would mean removing everything that proves you ever existed.”

She nodded, a rather uneasy look on her face. “I still think we should do it.”

They searched through his profile, checking for any indication of anomalies to memory retention and development. There was nothing.

“I just don’t understand it,” Yoongi said, stepping away from the screen. “Everything he says points the other way.”

“You’re sure he’s telling the truth?”

“The numbers he told me weren’t made up. I’ve seen them appearing everywhere, 1057, like some code that I’m supposed to understand but _I don’t_.”

“1057 …” Jinsoul was murmuring it repeatedly under her breath. “I feel like I’ve heard that somewhere, but I can’t remember.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Yoongi stopped, pressing his weight against the control panel. “Was it the painting on my door? Was that where you saw it?”

She shrugged.

“I’m getting sick and tired of this,” Yoongi admitted, taking the card and closing Jungkook’s data drawer. “We’ve been chasing it for weeks and there’s no answer.”

They searched for Jinsoul’s serial number and took her record out of the slot drawer too. Her status was still marked MISSING. The system hadn’t picked up on the two of them entering through the archive building.

“Do you want to check out the CCTV footage archives?” she said, tucking the chip into her pocket.

Yoongi nodded and tracked out of the zoomed-in portion of the map, looking through the labels in the sidebar menu.

“CCTV footage is somewhere in the middle of the chamber. We’ll have to go two floors down, three shelves to the right.”

“How are we going to access the raw footage, though?” Jinsoul scanned the space around them. “These seem just like piles of raw data to me.”

“I believe Olivia’s will have a tag to it. She’s a top-priority missing case, anyway.”

“Big bounty on her head?”

“A few police agencies and their subcontractors are out searching for her. No success yet, as you can imagine.”

“You think you’ll be able to snatch it first?”

“That makes it sound like a game.”

“Well - you _are_ playing a game with them, kind of.”

He didn’t reply. The platform took them over to a section of shelves with multiple screens built into them. Jinsoul widened her eyes at the sight.

“This looks amazing,” she said. “Everything single thing you do, recorded and stored here for god knows how long.”

“It’s not a very nice thought.”

Yoongi stopped the platform on the track in front of the nearest screen.

They found a large gallery of footage from various locations, sorted by year, then month and finally date. There was a folder marked STELLINE LAB. It had been flagged out for investigation.

“Thank god,” Jinsoul breathed out. “I was thinking we’d have to comb this entire section to look through the whole archive.”

“These are digital files. I suppose all those -” Yoongi gestured, “were built for rewinding tapes.”

Jinsoul wrinkled her nose in distaste, but continued to watch.

The camera in particular overlooked the large field of snow which Stelline Labs was built upon. The lighting was dim but even, not much happening for the first half of the day’s recording except for a few patients walking to and back from the lab, leaving trails of messy footprints in the snow.

Yoongi was turning the knob forward slowly, moving the video marker to the 23:11 mark. It was darker now, the lights in the building still switched on, the sign still lit up. No more visitors.

He wondered if she normally closed that late.

The footage ran on. Jinsoul fidgeted where she was, but kept watching.

At 23:40, the lights went out. Yoongi held his breath.

Five minutes later, an explosion so large that the footage shook and a bright burst of white light momentarily blinded the camera screen for a few seconds. After the smoke had cleared, they could see the shell of the building left behind, the roof blown off. Flames were still licking along the tops of the walls, dying out as soon as they touched the surrounding snow.

It was over in ten minutes.

Olivia herself could be seen running in a straight line, right towards the camera where she disappeared into the foyer underneath. The footage cut at 00:00 over to the next day, where officers were seen charging out onto the field, going into the building to investigate. A firefighting team was dispatched, but the fire had already been dampened out by the falling snow. Someone was carried out on a stretcher.

“It wasn’t a large building to begin with, anyway,” Jinsoul said, folding her arms. “She didn’t have much to lose.”

Yoongi was suddenly getting horrible flashbacks to watching Seokjin’s recording. The same static quality of the footage, a person escaping from the scene.

“Looks like she ignited something,” Yoongi said, brushing that thought away. “I couldn’t tell if the building had any power trip or fault.”

“Didn’t look like it. She might have done something to the main electrical unit. That can cause a fire. Either that or she just kept a bunch of explosives in there, which is pretty dangerous.”

“I don’t think it’s possible. She’s not allowed to leave the place, although I don’t know if that’s a self-imposed order or something Wallace did to her.”

“How’d you know?”

“Heard some people talking about it.”

Jinsoul stared solemnly at the frozen footage.

“She can’t have made it out too far, though. I doubt she would know how to get around.”

Jinsoul was rewinding the footage.

Yoongi stepped to the side of the platform, not wanting to watch it all over again. He gazed idly into the large hall, looking at all those shadows cast by the tiny lights on the shelves.

The silence gave it the strange, eerie feel of an abandoned mausoleum.

Suddenly getting an idea, he moved to the control panel and pulled up a master list of the archive and searched by date, not name. Jungkook’s incept date returned a list of entries created from Batch 97.

In the query field, he looked for entries incepted on 13th November 2028. It returned two results.

He hadn’t been expecting that. They were recorded as humans in the police database. Unless Wallace made a mistake. He opened up the two profiles and laid them out side by side.

There was the same information as before - a human boy and a girl tracked back to an orphanage - only this time, a name was indicated there.

Yoongi froze for a second, not quite believing what he saw.

“Could you come here for a minute?” he said, waving Jinsoul over. “Are my eyes deceiving me or is that a name there?”

She looked. “Yeah. Why?”

“The police records didn’t show the name of the orphanage. I might be able to make a trip down to check with them.”

“Why?”

“This is what Jungkook was looking for.” Yoongi grabbed a pen from his pocket and wrote the address down on his palm with slightly shaking hands. “Police records show that the boy born here is still alive.”

\---

Olivia could wait. Olivia had to wait. Yoongi was already rushing back in the spinner with Jinsoul, hoping to return to the apartment by dusk.

On the way, there was an incoming call from the office. He stared at it for a few seconds and hit the answer button. Yeojin’s voice came in - muffled over the old speakers - but he could still hear what she was saying over the steady thrum of the engine.

“Just an update from the authorities,” she was saying. “This just came in but they’re imposing restrictions on data and cellular transmissions into the city because of the rising number of infections. If you’re headed there, you need to produce your citizen ID card for checks before you can reconnect. Mr Yeung’s worried you didn’t bring it with you.”

“I did. What happened?”

“People still aren’t disconnecting from the Hivemind so it’s spreading faster than predicted. They just decided to shut the whole thing down. Created connection outages all over the colonies. You haven’t heard about this?”

Yoongi glanced over at Jinsoul, who was shaking her head.

“No.”

“After you enter 248 territory, there’ll be a complete loss in connections. You won’t be able to access the Hivemind or make any phone calls.”

“Duly noted.”

“That’s all I have for you, soldier. Good luck.”

Yoongi hung up and steered them to a lower altitude.

“Wonder what’s the infection rate now,” Jinsoul said, her voice dry. “That was quite sudden.”

“It may be better not to know.”

The rust-coloured landscape was blending out to soft purple, sharp blue lights of the approaching city visible through the blurred air. Yoongi pushed his ID card into the in-vehicle unit, which would allow the checkpoint authorities to scan his identification from their stations without needing to directly communicate with him.

Once they’d cleared the checkpoint queues, Yoongi headed directly for his apartment. He was a little over the speed limit, but couldn’t bring himself to care. They touched down by the side of the road. Yoongi left Jinsoul to guard the spinner and took the elevator up to his unit.

Inside, Yves was writing something inside that giant leather-bound encyclopaedia that she was compiling. Jungkook was asking her about the animals, listening to her description of each one with intent curiosity.

Yoongi lingered at the doorway, taking advantage of how absorbed they were in going through the book to observe them for a while.

Eventually Jungkook noticed him standing just in front of the door. He stopped talking. Yoongi came in, showing the address written on his palm.

Yves put her pen down. “What’s that?”

“The address to the orphanage,” Yoongi said. “We’re going there before we make the final trip to Wallace.”

“New places,” Yves said, closing her encyclopaedia. “Sounds fun. Count me in.”

The three of them moved downstairs, Jungkook rather dazed and speechless but also on the verge of ecstatic. He was shuddering a little in the cold air and light shower outside.

Jinsoul looked amused.

“Someone’s going to have their fate changed forever,” she said, reclined in the passenger seat and watching them in the rear-view mirror. “God, I wish that were me.”

Yoongi belted himself down and started up the control panel, closing all the spinner doors.

“I’ve got the address keyed into the GPS system already,” Jinsoul said, pointing at the dashboard screen. “All you have to do is follow the directions.”

He gave the screen a glance and saw the locational markings on the satellite map.

_Eden’s Orphanage. Colony 1057._

“It’s pretty far from here,” Jinsoul said, reading his expression. “I’ll take over from you at midnight, don’t worry.”

Yoongi drove the spinner out to an empty stretch of road, headlights kniving through damp indigo light. They took off from there, into the dark evening. It would be early morning by the time they reached the colony.

\---

A green field, at last. Soft pink sky above that, the traces of champagne gold under it, something like sunlight bleeding into clouds. Yoongi moved uncomfortably in his seat and noticed the light, opening his eyes.

Jinsoul had been piloting them since one in the morning with nothing but three hours of sleep and intense concentration. She was checking the GPS monitor when she noticed that Yoongi was awake.

“It’s roughly half-past five. You’re late and we’re reaching soon.”

He sat up in the seat, taking in the view. Hills in the fog, a network of houses coming into view. Further up, large fields of black-grey material seemed to continue on into the horizon.

“Pretty sight for sore eyes,” Jinsoul remarked after a while. They were flying right into it. “Coming here was a good decision.”

He turned around. Yves and Jungkook had both fallen asleep, each one leaning towards their side of the spinner, heads against the window. He woke them up.

“I hope they’re friendly,” Jinsoul said. “This looks like a place which doesn’t want anything to do with us city folk.”

To be safe, they found a bare clearing in the green field to touch down upon. Jinsoul killed the engine and they sat there, surveying the ground outside. The colony didn’t have a gate, just a gathering of houses, roads and structures like a large mountainside town.

They could walk there from here.

Yoongi got out and went to the back of the spinner, activating the Pilotfish guard drone. The rest of them had disembarked, one by one. They were walking around in the grass immediately nearby, experimentally stepping on it, reaching out to touch it.

“Is it real?” Jungkook asked Yves. She was crouching down, running her open palm over the weeds.

“Seems like it. I’m not sure what species it is, though.”

Yoongi launched Pilotfish. It hovered a few metres above the spinner. He locked onto the alert system with his wristwatch.

“What’s the plan?” Jinsoul said, watching the Pilotfish drone hover motionless in the air.

Yoongi took the items out of his crossbody pack - a resealable bag containing the electric mouse, Sumire’s silver dog tag, and the photograph of the graffiti on his door. He fished the folded printout of Jungkook’s memory report as well.

“We’ll find the orphanage first, and ask them to confirm that we’re looking in the right place.”

She looked at the things he was holding. “This should be the right place.”

“I’m just trying to be careful.”

Jinsoul shrugged. She turned away and started towards the colony. The rest of them followed behind.

The residential area was quiet at dawn. Simple houses which could have dated back to the pre-Nostrum era, built with bricks and stone. Jinsoul was studying the map which they’d drawn up on the trip there, including a rough approximation of where the orphanage should have been.

The terrain was undulating and they had to cross several stretches of unpaved road. Moving to higher ground, they located the orphanage. An old-fashioned metal sign had been affixed to the plaque beside the gate. The compound was enclosed with a fence. Inside, he saw a basketball court and a faded plastic playground.

It was silent and had that fresh, untouched quality of countryside mornings about it.

“Seems to be locked,” Yves said, testing the gate catch. “I don’t think anyone’s up yet.”

They waited in front of it for a while.

“At this rate, we’ll be waiting till noon,” Jinsoul complained. “You got a better plan?”

“Wonder if there’s some sort of town hall we can find,” Yoongi said, looking around. He took the map from Jinsoul and studied the names of landmarks which they had indicated in pencil.

There was a town square.

“It might be empty,” Yves said, looking over his shoulder. “But it’s worth a shot.”

They slowly headed there, walking back down the sloping pavement in single-file.

The town square was a wide patch of soft white ash-like material, like a giant sandbox. There was a bare-looking fountain in the middle of it. They went over and found nothing but dead leaves inside the basin. A brown bird was sitting on the tail of one of the marble mermaids, watching them.

It was a rather ugly-coloured animal, but Yves brightened up at the sight of it.

“That’s a real bird,” she said, turning to them. “Hwamei, a kind of thrush. They survived Nostrum, but so few of them are left in the wild.”

“Looks like it’s covered in shit,” Jinsoul quipped.

They stared at it.

“Why would they be here?” Jungkook asked.

“Presence of vegetation,” she explained. “They like scrublands and secondary forests.”

It opened its beak and let out a short chirp. Jinsoul snorted at the sound.

“People used to keep it as a caged bird.” Yves stopped talking when it let out another two-note chirp. “But even caged, this bird still sings beautifully.”

It flew off.

Jinsoul folded her arms and rested them on the rim of the fountain basin.

“I don’t see any town hall here,” she said. “Is anyone even awake?”

Jungkook ambled off to inspect the row of short little huts which bordered the road on one side of the square. The land rose up further down, and they could see a blanket of houses and roads, short buildings covering the face of the hill.

“I might have liked to live here,” Yves said, her voice soft. “This is possibly the most morning light I’ve seen in my life.”

Jungkook was running back, kicking up white ash.

“There’s a small seafood market over in that way,” he said, pointing in the direction of the line of huts. “I think the store owners are still setting up, but we could ask them something.”

They walked down the street, cutting across a wide strip of gravel beside the road to get to a field of dead grass, a makeshift canopy set up on metal scaffolds covering lines of pushcarts and outdoor umbrellas.

Bare bulbs had been fitted to the metal beams supporting the canopy. They went in, stepping on cold grass and crushed ice falling out of boxes. Prawns and crabs were laid out on long shelves of ice.

They stopped a short way, looking about for someone they could ask for help.

There was a booth with halogen lamps attached to a structure that had the appearance of a transplanted window frame. The old guy there looked like he knew something. They hung around outside his stall, watching him pull up the bamboo blinds and scoop ice onto the front shelves. Large styrofoam boxes of animoid fish and crab were packed up next to a large ice bucket.

He spotted them as he was laying the fish out. Yoongi went forward and asked him what time the orphanage would open.

“Open?” he said, giving them a bemused look. “They don’t allow walk-in visitors. You’ll have to talk to the owners when they wake up.”

“Who should I look for?”

“Miss Jo’s family owns the place,” he said. “Where are you coming from?”

They all exchanged glances. Yves gave him her best smile and thanked him.

They went back to the orphanage and waited at the gate. Jinsoul folded her arms and leaned against the wall.

“Someone should open it, if there’s a family living inside.”

The bird flew back to where they were, sitting on the gate where a long strip of green paint had peeled off, leaving tarnished iron under it.

“It seems to like us,” Jungkook said. Yves looked up at it.

“It may be the only one left here.”

They stayed there for a long time. Yoongi checked his watch every few minutes. They’d lost at least an hour to waiting.

He looked up at the sound of something being unlocked. A very small snap, then silence for a few seconds. They waited, all standing in front of the gate with varying degrees of impatience.

A young lady in a red dress stepped out of the left entrance, pushing the heavy wooden door back. She saw them standing in front of the gate and stayed where she was for a moment, frowning slightly.

“Can I help you?” she asked, cautiously going forward. The pale light made her face look wan and lethargic.

“Are you Miss Jo?” Yves asked.

The lady appraised the four of them with some doubt, her fingers twisting the bunch of keys in her hand.

“Call me Haseul. Are you looking for anything?”

“We’d like to ask about one of your former residents,” Yoongi said. “Is now a good time?”

She glanced back into the building briefly, hesitating.

“I’m busy now, but you can come into the sitting room,” she finally said, undoing the lock on the gate. “We’ll talk about this later.”

The common room inside was dark. One window on the east side was open, letting morning light in. The curtains moved slightly in the breeze from the ceiling fan. It had three plaid couches arranged in a U-shaped formation around an oval knit rug, a large television and some books and papers stacked in the niche under it.

“The children haven’t woken up yet,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Allow me to heat up their morning congee first. Gowon will talk to you.”

She left, moving off to some darker corner of the first floor. Above them, a large black attached contraption with a long extended arm began to move slowly across the ceiling. The sudden sound of it gave them all a fright.

The arm extended out from its folded position, pointing slightly downwards. A moment later, a girl made her way noiselessly into the room, the skirts of her old-fashioned white nightgown drifting on the floor behind her.

In the darkness of the sitting room, her silvery hair caught what little light came in from the window. Large eyes, a gentle smile. She bowed slightly to them and they bowed back.

“Haseul will be back before you know it,” she said. “What did you want to talk to us about?”

They were silent, not quite knowing how to react to her sudden overbearing friendliness. Her entire being seemed to glow too, and Yoongi was not sure if it was just the dress and hair or something else.

“You can talk to me, you know.” Another smile. “Are you tired, perhaps?”

She had a breathy sweet way of talking, with a cadence that seemed like it was spun from sugar and made to touch down on a briny salt marsh. She didn’t look like someone of this world.

She tilted her head, waiting for their reply.

“We’ve got a guy here who might be a former orphan,” Jinsoul finally said, crossing her legs. “He thinks he’s been, uh, wrongly classified as someone else.”

There was a long silence, during which Jinsoul leaned forward and looked at Jungkook. “Am I right?”

Nobody said anything.

Gowon suddenly moved across the room, so quickly that she might have been gliding on the floor. Her entire being suddenly seemed to blink and flicker - in a moment the lights in the room came on and that long nightgown had dissolved into another billowy white dress which ended at her ankles.

Yoongi realised the black contraption on top was a built-in hologram emanator.

“I forgot to give you some light. But how exciting,” Gowon said, walking back. “I’m sure Haseul will want to hear about this. Who is it?”

The three of them looked at Jungkook.

“Are you tired?” she asked again, bending down slightly to peer at their faces. “You don’t look too well. We have cod liver oil and ginseng in the kitchen -”

Yves chuckled despite herself.

“Long flight,” Jinsoul corrected. “This place is so hard to get to.”

“You must be from the city, then.” Gowon straightened up and folded her hands together in front of her. “That’s lovely. I was from there too.”

Jinsoul looked her up and down. “Were you?”

Haseul came back from the kitchen, quickly seating herself on the couch next to theirs like she was afraid she might be interrupting something.

“They’re from the city,” Gowon said, still standing up. “They’re quite tired.”

“I’m tired too,” Haseul said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Never mind. Sorry to keep you waiting. What did you want to ask me about?”

“A former resident,” Yoongi said, reaching for the items in the plastic bag. “We’ve found evidence that he may be born here, but we’d like you to confirm it.”

He passed the bag to Haseul, who turned it over, examining each item inside with concealed bemusement.

“I don’t recognise these.”

“Maybe I should tell you how we found them.” Yoongi scratched at the back of his head, deciding how to start. “I found a box of remains buried at an off-city farm site. There were remains inside it, including this dog tag necklace with the colony numbers on it.”

He took it out of the bag and passed it to her.

“This electric mouse was owned by him. He has a memory of seeing it when he was younger.”

“Who is he?”

Yoongi gave Jungkook a look, as if to tell him that he had to start speaking. Jungkook sat up hastily, forcing himself back to attention.

“I - I’m Jungkook,” he said, holding his hand out with a small bow. Haseul looked confused, but took it all the same.

“A former resident?” Haseul said. “I’m sorry, but the name doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” he added, watching her reaction. Hoping for something.

“We have only twelve to fourteen children here at any one time. I would know all of their names.”

“It was a long time ago.” Yoongi looked down at the printout on his lap. “I don’t mean to doubt your knowledge, but could it have occurred before you took over this place?”

“When was it?”

“The record showed a birth from 2028,” Yoongi said, still trying to hold her attention. “It was directed back to this orphanage.”

“May I know where you found this record from?”

Yoongi patted about in his pockets for his license. He took it out and showed it to her. “I’m working for a police-subcontracted bounty hunting company. We used official police records.”

“2028.” She paused, thinking. “I might have my mother’s adoption records from that time. Gowon dear, could you run up to the office and get it?”

Gowon turned and went up the stairs.

They waited in awkward silence while she was gone.

“Would you like something to drink?” Haseul said, evidently looking for something to do. “I prepared honey ginseng for the children. We have some leftovers.”

They nodded. She got up and walked to the kitchen.

Jinsoul stretched out slightly on the couch. “I could _really_ use that right now.”

When Gowon had returned with the book, they were all sitting down, quietly sipping at their drinks.

“I found the records,” she said brightly, holding the book out. It was a thin paperback, ribbon book markers sticking out of it.

Haseul gestured at it. “Just let me have a look at the ones from 2020 onwards.”

Gowon opened the book and turned the pages slowly, allowing Haseul to read through each one. Haseul suddenly held her hand up stiffly, mid-way through the book.

Gowon stopped turning the page.

“2028,” Haseul said, hovering her hand above the page. “Three recorded adoptions. None of them have this name.”

Yoongi held out the piece of paper with the Denaprint record showing the two duplicate DNAs.

“Is there a November 13th date?”

Haseul took the piece of paper and stared at it for a long time, but she didn’t say anything. Gowon closed the book and slowly stepped back.

A growing sense of disquiet began to fill the air. Haseul suddenly got up from the couch and went to the door, opening it. Yoongi began to protest, but stopped when he realised she wasn’t chasing them out.

“Want to take a walk?” she said, still holding the door open. “I think I should show you something.”

They went to the back of the orphanage, where a bright yellow pickup had been parked.

“We have to drive there,” Haseul said, getting into the front seat. “Do you mind?”

They climbed into the truck bed at the back, sitting cramped and cross-legged as she drove them out of the orphanage gates onto bumpy grey roads. Yoongi was watching the landscape change as they went further out. Pink streaks in the sky, the dead grass slowly giving way to expansive white fields of salt and crystalline blobs which might have been ice.

They were approaching a field of white crumbled rock, the temperature rapidly dropping. In the distance, a hulking grey plane wreckage sat in the middle of the field, its windows stripped out, leaving empty dark sockets.

They made a left turn and drove off the road into this field, tyres crunching on the rocks. Haseul stopped it in the middle of the worn track and climbed out, putting on a tribal-patterned shawl. She had a small black object concealed in her hand, which she aimed at an empty spot of ground like she was directing a remote at a television.

A human form flickered to life there. A hologram, Yoongi realised. It was Gowon. She appeared mid-stride, as if she was just walking across the field and coming towards them.

Haseul started walking, keeping her hands and arms under that long red and orange shawl. On cue, they followed behind her. There were pieces of cut glass and ice in the dirt.

They headed towards the plane wreckage.

Upon reaching it, Yoongi could see the extent of the damage more clearly. Stained metal of the fuselage, nut-and-bolt holes of the airlock, a burnt-out doorway with blackened edges, broken twin engines. The fins, rudders, tail and wings of the plane were completely gone.

They stopped by the engine, looking up at the plane body.

“The orphanage receives urgent cases sometimes,” Haseul said, her voice even and meditative in the still air. “We had one such case in 2028. It came from a small family. They arrived here on November 13th.”

They were silent, waiting for her to continue.

“I was just a toddler back then. Barely even three years old. I didn’t know anything.” She touched the wall of the fuselage. “But my mother was alive when it happened and she told me when I was old enough. The family had an accident - an aviation accident. This … was the plane.”

There was a long silence.

“There were survivors, but not all of them made it. The mother was severely injured, for one. They sent her to our small town hospital but she didn’t make it. The father was the pilot, and he also had a family friend with them. Both of them survived.”

Haseul paused, then spoke slower, like she was trying to choose the correct words.

“We also found out that the mother had a baby - still unborn - but soon due. They got a midwife to help and the baby was born in the town hospital. The father was devastated, as you can imagine. I mean, it was a premature baby, and now it didn’t have a mother.”

“So what happened to the baby?” Jungkook asked.

“Sent into our orphanage as soon as it was born. My mother agreed to take the baby in at the father’s request.” Haseul saw their confused expressions. “He was very adamant about it - my mother couldn’t do anything to change his mind. She said he seemed afraid, and she didn’t want to turn him down. She couldn’t leave the child abandoned just like that.”

They climbed up the plane and entered the cabin area. It was hollow inside - all the seats had been removed.

“We repurposed this site into a sort of playground. Sometimes we take the younger children here.”

They stayed inside for a while, moving about through the plane cabin, hearing the floor squeak under their weight and looking out of the square windows.

“How did you find the November 13th date?” Haseul asked.

She was standing in the doorframe, staring at the white landscape outside.

“It was written into the bottom of the electric mouse,” Jungkook said. “Scratched into the motor component.”

“Sounds like something the father would do,” Haseul said, smiling faintly at him. She got off the plane, jumping to the ground on the other side with a soft thump, this strangely child-like motion.

“Come on down,” she said, gesturing up at them. “There’s something he wrote at the side here.”

Yoongi carefully got to his knees and lowered himself to the ground, not wanting to sustain any more injuries to his limbs. Jungkook and Jinsoul jumped down after him, Yves choosing to stay up in the cockpit area.

Haseul was pointing at a rather faded white spray-painted set of numbers on the side of the plane, just below where the fin should have been. _13-11-28._

“He painted that before he left, as a reminder. They promised him that they would keep this here.”

Jungkook spent a long time looking up at it.

Yoongi turned to Haseul. “Did the father say why he wanted to leave the child in the orphanage?”

“He was afraid that people would look for it. That’s all my mother told me.”

“But who would look for it?”

“That’s something she never figured out.” Haseul folded her arms under the shawl. “The father told them that they were escaping in a plane for that very reason. To run away from those people who were after them.”

There was something very sinister about that, but Yoongi didn’t want to prod at it yet.

“The mother was a replicant, wasn’t she?”

Haseul looked confused.

“I don’t know what that is.”

Yoongi recalculated. “Never mind. The mother’s name - did you know what it was?”

“I can’t remember. I’ll have to go through my mother’s records for that.” She was lacing her fingers together under the thick shawl. “It was such an old story.”

“So you didn’t know who the child was, at all?”

“No. I’ve only heard about it from my mother. She said the child didn’t stay for long. A few days after being born, someone came to adopt it.”

“Do you know who that person was?”

She shook her head.

“Did your mother observe anything about the child?” Yoongi paused. “Anything … strange?”

At this Haseul looked down, clearly uncomfortable. The question seemed to trouble her. She gave the others a wary glance before speaking again.

“I don’t know how to tell you this.”

Yoongi kept quiet. Haseul exhaled slightly, her breath fogging up in the cold air.

“If I remember correctly,” she said, “I think she told me the child was a girl.”

\---

The two of them went back to the orphanage to search the adoption records again, leaving the rest of them back at the crash site. Yoongi hoped to ask her more about the identity of the father.

“I can’t trust my memory that much when it comes to these stories,” Haseul said, her wrist draped over the wheel. They were driving back along the bumpy road, crumbly white gravel lining both sides of the track like grated coconut. “My mother told them to me in bits and pieces. It was all very disjointed. She also left things out on purpose.” A sigh. “I suppose she wanted me to read the things she left behind.”

“When did you inherit the orphanage?”

Haseul didn’t look at him. “Five years ago. I was still a teenager.” She paused as they went over a particularly hard bump. “Ma died of cancer. I guess I should have seen it coming. It got worse after my father disappeared.”

“Are you the only one left?”

“Me and Gowon. Gowon was gifted to us by a family friend who I lost contact with.”

Yoongi debilitated asking the next question, but he did. “Do you know what a replicant is?”

“I’ve heard of that,” she laughed. “But I don’t really know what it is.”

She had to be kidding. But he tried not to show his surprise.

“It’s a synthetic human.”

Haseul nodded distractedly, steering them back out onto the main road.

“You see - Jungkook’s one of those. He thinks he may be the child. If what you said is true, I don’t know how to break it to him.”

“Where did he come from?”

Yoongi had no idea how to explain the entire concept to her, so he just said, “Wallace Corporation. They’re the ones who made helpers like Gowon.”

“Wallace.” She suddenly perked up. “Wallace. My mother mentioned that word.”

“Any chance I could have a look at the things she left behind?”

“Sure,” Haseul said, giving him a glance. The car was ascending the gentle slope of the hill, raw sunlight streaming in through the windows. “If you can help me search for them, that is.”

The room they were in was an old-fashioned thing, the stuff of industrial town apartments in the 2010s. Dusty electric fans, an electric kettle and upturned porcelain strainer mugs on a round glass-topped table. The walls were painted robin egg blue, peeling away in certain spots and leaving exposed patches of grey underneath. A small homemade altar at the front, with a portrait of a woman and a bowl of rice in front of it.

“I haven’t cleaned up this place in a while,” Haseul said with a sigh, pushing a chair aside to retrieve a few boxes stored under an old vanity. Yoongi went over to help her heave them out.

They carried the boxes and placed them on the glass-topped table. Haseul dusted off her hands and cut at the tape with a boxcutter.

“I’ve been so busy. I didn’t have time to unpack all this from the time we brought it down.” She paused, ripping the tape away. “She just left so much behind that I got overwhelmed with trying to run this whole place on my own.”

The box was full of old photographs, many jotter books packed with pages of writing in both Korean and Mandarin. Yoongi watched her take each item out and stack them up on the table.

“She had a habit of tracking each child’s development - things like their habits, personalities, what they liked and disliked.” She put the box on the floor and pulled up a chair, leafing through the first book at the top of the stack.

“May I have a look at them?” Yoongi asked. She nodded.

Every book was dedicated to one child. She wrote their name and date over the front in pencil, and there was a blank box etched below that, for them to trace their own names out. The pages were yellowed and brittle with age, worn-out at the edges.

Most of the entries were written like journal logs, detailing observations about each child’s personality and interactions with the other children. She often included notes at the bottom - addressed to herself, presumably - about how she could improve on her interactions with them.

There were pages of child-like drawings interspersed throughout the book, messy things done in crayon and fingerpaint, some of them stuck together so that he couldn’t open up the pages without tearing them apart.

Haseul looked up. “I’ve tried to do the same thing but it’s hard to be as diligent and attentive as her.”

“Incredible,” he said. “But these must have been children who grew up inside the orphanage. She had time to watch them develop.”

“Yeah.” She had been looking through the stacks of jotter books, searching for names. “I’m trying to search for the one with a November 13th date, if she even made one at all.”

Yoongi read in silence for a while, until Haseul found what she was looking for.

“This must be it. November 13th.” She placed the book down in the empty space between them. “There’s nothing written inside.”

The first few pages were blank, the book still stiff with newness.

“Not even a name?”

“I suppose they didn’t have time to name the baby.”

“Your mother must have given it a name.”

Haseul shook her head.

Yoongi thought in silence for a while, still staring down at that blank jotter book. Surely there had to be something else that he’d missed - something that would tell him about the mother or the child.

“That hospital,” he said, looking up. “Is it still operating?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think they might have given out a birth certificate?”

Haseul closed the book she was looking through, contemplating this new idea.

“It’s possible.” She nodded slowly. “I’ll go up and get the adoption records. Gowon could have missed something.”

Haseul came back down with an armful of papers.

“There was a drawer filled with these, it seemed like they were 2020 to 2030-ish.” She dropped them on the table with a huff. “Birth certificates and letters from parents and relatives.”

They cracked the binders open and found thick pieces of paper, neatly filed up in chronological order. There were separators indicating the dates.

“Good thing my mother was an organised woman,” Haseul said with a fond smile. “Else we’d be wading through a mess right now.”

Yoongi searched for dates in 2028. There were five certificates, all printed in simplistic format with no indication of which hospital they’d been administered by.

“Some of them stayed on, then moved out to live elsewhere in town when they were old enough.”

“Do any of them ever leave the colony?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t been here long enough to know.”

Three of the birth certificates were tabbed with sticky notes, scribbled with the words _To Duplicate_ on them.

November 13th didn’t indicate a name for the child, but the mother’s name was there - Sumire. The father’s name was Richard.

They had the names of the parents, at least. Yoongi made a mental note of that. He compared the details on the certificate with the adoption record book Gowon had brought to them earlier. The dates matched.

The child was a girl, born on November 13th. Adopted by a foster parent only known as Wallace just before her fifth birthday.

“There’s a letter here, from the father.” Haseul was taking an envelope out of a box file. The date of birth was written there as well. Yoongi took the letter out and unfolded it.

_Madam Jo STOP I do not know when you will read this but I will try my best to explain and trust that one day you will tell the girl when she is old enough to understand STOP My olive branch I hope you are safe and doing well STOP_

“He never wrote back again?”

“This was given to the orphanage before he left,” Haseul said. “Look at the date on top.”

“This doesn’t help much.” Yoongi held the thin piece of paper out before him and started smoothing it out on the table. “Doesn’t say anything about the child.”

Haseul was still searching through reams of paper in silence. There was a little flash right then, and Gowon’s figure suddenly melted out of the wall, flickering a little.

“A name,” she said. “My little olive branch. That’s what the father said before he left. That’s what he named her.”

They both turned around to stare at her, this icy pale figure in the middle of the room, indifferent to the cool wind that was suddenly blowing in through the open window.

“Gowon,” Haseul said. “Do you have anything from that day in your memory?”

“If I’m given a date and name, I can search through the audio bank.”

Haseul turned to Yoongi. “Do you want to try that?”

“Go ahead.” He looked down at the letter, one finger tapping on a corner of it. “Find Richard. November 13th, 2028.”

A floating menu appeared before Gowon’s face, several holographic panels with symbols that he couldn’t recognise.

“I have three relevant audio files from a person registered as ‘Richard’ in my database, circa November 13th, 2028. Would you like me to read them out for you?”

Yoongi took a pen and neatly tore a page out of one of the blank jotter books.

“Wallace the company came for us when they found out Sumire was expecting the baby girl. I must hide her here to protect her life and I hope that it is not much trouble for you, please Madam Jo, help us …”

A pause. Gowon blinked rapidly.

“A family friend has kindly offered to help me keep Sumire’s remains … Yes I know, I will change the records with the government to be sure, tell them I have one boy only … please, please take care of Sumire’s mouse for the baby girl.”

Another pause.

“I am intending to make a move to 13-43-40 to prevent Wallace from ever tracing her to me, Madam Jo you will know where to lead her to if she wants to look for me.”

He finished transcribing the message in silence, Gowon slowly drifting over to take a look.

“13-43-40 is the last planet in our solar system,” she offered helpfully. “It has a surface temperature of negative two hundred and forty-eight degrees.”

Yoongi put the pen down and re-read the letter, trying to find out something in there that might tell him something else. It was already clear that the child was someone else.

It wasn’t Jungkook.

Haseul fetched the rest of them back from the crash site. Jungkook walked into the room, this completely blank look on his face that suggested he knew something, or that he’d been told something on the way back. Haseul closed the door behind him and went to stand at the table, leaving the chair empty for him.

“I’m sorry ...” she began, placing one hand on his shoulder as he sank down into it. “I’m so sorry.”

He kept quiet, just searching the sheets of papers and certificates spread out on the desk like he was looking for something in them.

“It’s a girl,” Yoongi said, trying to keep his voice level. “No name, but we know from the recorded conversation that the father scrambled her birth records to make it look like she was dead.”

When Jungkook spoke, his voice was weak. Almost resigned.

“Why did it tell us that there was a boy?”

“It’s the copy he created to confuse Wallace.” Yoongi swallowed. “The boy doesn’t exist.”

In the ensuing silence, he re-read the letter again, trying to decipher the possible interpretations of everything the father had written.

Sumire died in the airplane crash. The father - Richard - allowed a family friend to keep her remains. That friend was most likely Citadel. The child was born in Colony 1057 and transferred to Eden’s Orphanage where she lived for a year before being adopted by Wallace.

Adopted by Wallace. Born in colony 1057. Still alive. Everything seemed to match, except the gender of the child. A small part of him still wanted to believe that there was a mistake. Then his eyes went to the silver dog tag, still lying on the table in the resealable bag. He read the name mentioned by Richard in the letter.

_My olive branch._

Yoongi suddenly understood. Why she had escaped, why she was so curious about Jungkook’s reaction to his memories and why she had such a long lifespan compared to the other replicants. The silver tag she wore and that stifling quarantine complex which Wallace housed her in after adopting her from the orphanage.

The child was Olivia.

Yoongi told Jungkook this, then sat there, wordlessly watching, waiting for him to speak.

Haseul excused herself after a while.

“I’ll give you two some space,” she said, gently closing the door.

What was left amounted to nothing but dull silence. Yoongi counted the seconds, getting increasingly nervous.

“What are you going to do now?” Jungkook asked.

The question dissipated into the dry air.

“Look at me,” Yoongi said, voice quiet. “How do you feel?”

“I don’t know.”

“I can send you back home, if you’d like.” Yoongi stopped. “No point risking it anymore.”

Jungkook looked up at him. Something was threatening to break out under that nonchalant expression, but he didn’t let it.

“Olivia must have given you her memories,” Yoongi said. “That’s why you remember them.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t find out earlier.” Jungkook looked down at the table to blink rapidly. “It was good while it lasted.”

Yoongi kept quiet, unsure of how to answer.

“Do you want to go home?” he asked.

“No.”

“What do you feel like doing now?”

“Can you find Olivia?”

“I have to.”

“Are you still going to kill her?”

“... No.”

Jungkook suddenly reached across the table and placed his hand on top of Yoongi’s.

“I want to come along.” The tears were falling from his eyes now. “I want to help find her.”

Yoongi stared at their hands.

“You don’t have much time left. Are you sure?”

A nod. Jungkook had forced his head back down, trying to hide it, but Yoongi could see his shoulders shake with the force of the choked-up sobs.

He got up and walked over to him.

“Come here.”

Jungkook stood up and leaned into the embrace - tentatively at first, but eventually warming up to it. They stayed there for the longest time, holding on until Jungkook’s breathing had calmed down.

“You are so brave and quiet,” Yoongi murmured into his shoulder, “sometimes I forget you are suffering.”

\---

They left the room when he was ready - despite his red eyes and sniffly nose. Haseul sent them on their way with packaged azuki bean cakes and well-wishes before leaving. She allowed Yoongi to take the letter with him on the promise that he would pass it to Olivia.

“Send her my greetings,” she said. “Have a safe trip.”

Yves and Jinsoul’s moods were noticeably subdued on the way back - whether out of emotion or politeness, Yoongi didn’t know - but they walked to the spinner in silence. He noticed that those little cut-glass pieces of ice and crystal had somehow found their way back to the grass here. Pilotfish detected their presence and slowly began to descend back to its attached spot on the back of the spinner.

Only when they’d settled down inside did Jinsoul say something.

“What’s next?”

Yoongi was clearing the old GPS coordinates off the screen. He gazed at the empty map for a while, trying to collect his thoughts.

“I suppose we’ll have to search for Olivia.”

“Do we know where to start?”

“Go back to Wallace and ask them for information. Pretend to assist them. But then we have to get to her first, before they do.”

He paused, seeing the little audio message notification on the sidebar. Without really thinking, he tapped on it.

Namjoon’s voice crackled over the radio, slightly warped from the poor transmission but still decipherable. They listened to it in the cold silence.

“The cure ... is ready. I’ve found a way to beam it over to you through the Hivemind without using neurocables … you should see a file being sent over the IP address transporter service soon. I understand that many areas are facing connection outages but please try to let me know when you receive the file and this message … or give me a sign at least. All the best and be safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> borrowed [this quote](https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/937204-you-are-so-brave-and-quiet-i-forget-you-are) from ernest hemingway


	11. run cried the crawling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> major character death

He figured that Olivia would be smart. She would have headed to a place where the people would receive her without questioning her identity or vowing to keep her hidden away and imprisoned like Wallace did.

Wallace would have wanted to keep her there, maybe until she was old enough for them to test out breeding on her with another replicant - or long enough until they could find Sumire’s remains for them to complete the other half of the reproduction puzzle. Maybe they would conduct some experiments on the bodies.

Neither thought sounded very comforting.

Yoongi had an idea in mind - not of going back to Wallace, but searching for that elusive RFM community. He had no idea where to begin, though. Namjoon said that their operations were too neat and subtle for people to even find out where the trail began, or to trace it back to any particular person.

“I haven’t received the file yet.” Yoongi checked his incoming box for the antivirus programme. “Do you want to wait?”

Jinsoul pulled her seatbelt on. “Let’s go find Olivia while we’re at it.”

He radioed Namjoon, while there were still bars of connection indicated on the screen. The call lagged like anything, but it was good enough to get the message across.

“Namjoon.” Yoongi paused, hearing bits and pieces of his voice over the airwaves. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I haven’t received the programme.”

A few seconds passed, before the full audio reply came through.

“It’s still uploading. A pretty large file -”

The call ended abruptly.

They were leaving the peripheral regions of the colony, flying over that white salt field with the plane wreckage on it. From up here, it looked small, like a beached whale or a washed-up steamer. Jungkook kept his head against the window until they’d left the scene behind them.

Yoongi hoped the connection would hold out long enough for the file to transfer over. He slowed down, gave less power to the engine and they fell to a slower cruising speed.

“You’ll go back to Wallace now?” Jinsoul asked, her legs crossed in her seat, shoes tugged off for the long ride out. “Would Olivia be there?”

“Unless we can find out where to contact RFM, that’s the only place I can think of.”

“Perhaps I should have paid more attention when they were holding their recruitment drives,” Jinsoul said. “Each facility had some representative wiring out invitation mail to us over Hivemind. I binned everything, didn’t bother to look. Only found out about the existence of RFM from Mako.”

“So this Mako guy was the one who knew Namjoon beforehand.”

“Yeah. Helped him out with something while he was still working in the main building. I don’t know what, though. They never mentioned it to the rest of us.”

“Wonder if Namjoon knows.”

“Connection here’s so shit,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself like she was cold. “Still, you can try calling him again.”

The signal had dropped to half a bar now.

“Maybe when we pass another colony.”

Somehow it felt like the four of them were, momentarily, trapped in that hovering cloud and spliced away from everything else, never to return. He held that thought, in all its fragile coldness and strange comfort. There was so much ignorance to be had in just running away.

But the light outside was already dying - getting covered up in thick white smog, and yellow dawn slowly became dull again. Back to sick wetlands and slick roads. He checked the map for the next colony. Two more hours.

\---

He saw the next colony up ahead, a grey sheet of unfriendly concrete buildings, like a city that never made it past its industrial mining stage. Roads were crooked, menacing, like snakes going through the rubble. He checked for the signal and found it to be good, to his relief.

Yves was the only one still awake. She was reading a book in the overhead light.

Yoongi went back to the panel, leaning slightly over it and waiting for the connection to stabilise. He slowed down and went to a lower altitude.

File was in 63% transit. Once he was sure the call would go through, he radioed for Namjoon.

It took a while for him to pick up.

“Did you get it?” Namjoon’s voice came over. “It’s fully transmitted over on my end.”

“63% here. Still receiving. I’ve got a spotty connection.”

“It should be done by the time you reach Wallace.”

“Yes.” Yoongi paused. “Are you still there? I might need some information about RFM.”

Namjoon didn’t reply, or he couldn’t hear. Yoongi repeated his question.

The voice came on mid-sentence. “- What about it?”

“You said there’s no leader.”

“I didn’t say that. I just don’t know who the leader is.”

“What about any members?”

“Only those guys who took my ideas. Some dudes from Wallace, but I’m not in contact with them anymore.” A thick crackle of static. “You’re looking for them?”

“Looking for someone who might be looking for them.”

“Chances are, that person might be just as lost as you are.”

Yoongi watched the faint pink line on the horizon. “I don’t think she would leave without knowing where she was going.”

“Who’s this you’re talking about?”

“Some kid who escaped from Wallace.”

“Escapees usually don’t make it that far out. They end up being rescued, instead of actually finding the movement.”

“Do you think she ran off because of that?”

“It’s highly likely. No reason for them to otherwise. They know it’s illegal. They’ll be tracked. People like you are going to come after them. Risk is too high unless they actually know what they’re doing, so … yes, I’d say it’s very likely.”

“How do I find a colony?”

“What do you mean? They’re very secretive.”

“What did the Mako guy tell you?”

“Each one specialises in something, and they all exchange supplies with one another to keep the movement going. If you find one, you should be able to ask them to contact all the others.”

“You’re sure?”

“You asked me for what Mako said. That’s what he said.”

Namjoon didn’t say anything for a long time. Yoongi realised, only after a few seconds of staring blankly out of the window, that the connection had fizzled out. The file had completely loaded into the system.

He took the blank chip out from the pouch which Namjoon had provided to them and started making duplicates.

It didn’t seem like there was any choice left but to head straight back with the cure and be done with it. Yoongi took the resealable bag of toys out and examined them as the spinner cruised on towards another colony.

Mako, the only guy who they knew was part of the movement, was already dead. There was a very tight, retrospective sense of guilt about that. Yoongi took the electric animal out of the bag and turned it upside down to read the birthdate scratched into the motor.

Olivia must have been motivated by something. If she was able to stay in there for so many years without question only to escape now, something had to have pushed her somewhere.

Something she remembered, maybe.

He sat up. Jungkook’s memories. Yoongi turned around, saw him sleeping with his head tilted to the side, resting against the window frame.

“Jungkook.”

Nothing. Yves put her book down and poked at his arm with the spine of it. He slowly cracked his eyes open, saw the two of them looking at him.

“Are we here?” he asked, in a voice still hoarse with sleep.

“No.” Yoongi gave him a while to focus. “I need you to tell me everything that Olivia tried to look through. All of the memories.”

Jungkook rubbed at one eye, then both with the heel of his hands.

Yoongi turned back to look ahead while he was steering.

“She might have decided to run away because of something she saw inside your implants.”

“I don’t remember any faces.”

“Faces aren’t really important. We won’t be able to identify them anyway. What other incidents do you remember?”

Jungkook looked between the two of them. “The body chute memory. That’s one. Someone passing me the metal tag with 1057 on it …” he trailed off, looking up to the roof of the vehicle.

They waited.

“I was eating something in a cafeteria. Soup. The soup was green. There’s a girl sitting opposite me.”

“What did the cafeteria look like?”

“Kind of grey. Tall windows.” A pause. “Someone bringing me into a … a room. It’s all white inside. I’m looking up at them as I walk, so I must be a child. They show me a photo of some people and leave me inside the room. Someone comes inside to give me a vaccination and it doesn’t really hurt.”

“That’s probably a quarantine room,” Yoongi murmured. “The people who took Olivia away.”

“The mouse appears again somewhere else. It’s somewhere green. There’s snow on the path, I think. A building. I’m playing with it in the front yard.”

“Was there anyone with you?”

“No.”

“Keep thinking.”

“A yellow pickup.” A pained expression came onto his face. “This strong feeling of drowning in water but in a dark place and it smells like bitter almonds everywhere.”

Yoongi picked the resealable bag up and looked closely at the electric mouse. Faux fur, felt tail. Small motor underneath. The glue had sealed all the cracks below that together.

“Yves,” he said, meeting her eye in the rear-view, “do electric animals contain any organic material?”

She looked up at him, book still open on her lap.

“Depends on what animal.”

Yoongi dangled the bag in front of her.

She closed the book. “If they weren’t able to find enough synthetics, sometimes the creators would use corpses of real animals.” Her eyes lit up. “You’ve got a point. We might be able to find something out from there.”

“Where to, though?”

“Any pawn shop will do the job” She leaned forward, looking at the screen through the space in between the two front seats. “I know quite a few of them, but none out here. You’ll have to search for one.”

Yoongi zoomed out on the tracking map, moving forward to the next colony ahead of them.

“Would you be able to tell by name?”

“There’s usually a business number next to its title deed. You can just check it against the universal directory.”

They searched in silence, Yoongi moving his finger over the screen to check names of roads, another panel opened up which displayed a directory of registered businesses, until they landed on something in colony 1060 that sounded vaguely like an animal and curio dealer.

“Doc Badger’s Off-World Screening,” Yves said, with a theatrical quality to it. “Sounds like a funny guy.”

Colony 1060 was bare, scant vegetation with dark brackish water, like a swamp without its trees. All roads were raised above the muck, but they still had to stick their shoes through mud and sop and many other things hidden in the ground.

The skinny little man, Doc Badger, was seated in a dark tent raised on stilts, held up on the inside with metal scaffolding and shelves of things wrapped in shiny foil paper. When they found him, he was behind a large jury-rigged lab machine attached to its own table platform, one foot propped up on his chair, knee to chest, a hand slowly waving a rattan fan about. When he spoke, it was with a lucidity rarely found outside the city.

“Want to get anything?” he asked them as Yoongi and Yves filed into the tent. “Real horse, real rat. Off-world papers to escape checkpoints. I can get them all for you at a small price.”

Yoongi shook his head and placed the electric mouse in front of him. “Where’s this from?”

Doc Badger took the mouse and fitted it into one side of the machine, a boxy thing with pinkish-lit glass panelling. An infra-red image immediately showed up on the main monitor, softly beeping as the scan print grew clearer.

Yves moved slightly from her spot to take a closer look at the image.

“Made outside of here, my friends. Organic material close to zero but there is a remnant of a bacterial strain that we do not see commonly in the populace anymore. Ah, you may be lucky today.”

They listened to him talk.

“Endemism. This pattern of a dormant but living virus, the Andromeda Strain.” He was gesturing rapidly with one hand while turning knobs on the machine with the other. “Only found in one place on the planet. Only one place I know that still contains this previously well-known venom …”

He trailed off, fixing them with a toothy smile and colourless eyes.

“Tell us,” Yoongi said. He wasn’t in the mood to play guessing games.

“Lucky number 2001,” Doc Badger said, handing the mouse back to them, but not before giving it a sniff. “Smells like old mildew. Something of dying flesh and despair. This animal has been through a lot, am I right?”

Back at the parking spot, Jinsoul had gotten out of the spinner and was standing in front of it, looking off into the murky distance. Nothing much but olive green pools of water and grey dirt.

“Every colony we visit is dead,” she said half-jokingly, as they walked back, leaving footprints in the mud. “What did you guys find?”

They had a destination. 2001. A whole day away from where they were, so he decided to set off as fast as he could.

“But how do you know she’s going to be there?” Jinsoul leaned against the window. “She doesn’t even know about this animal.”

“We have to try every possible place.”

“And if she doesn’t want to see us?”

“I don’t know.” He exhaled heavily. “I don’t know.”

\---

Afternoon came and went. The landscape had turned weak and dim in the milky light of evening, which spread slowly through the air. Colony 2001 was ahead, a ramshackle collection of gunmetal grey huts coalesced around a watery grave of a pond on top of what looked like a mesa. They were all awake then, waiting for the landing.

“Looks like a replicant colony,” Jinsoul said. “I’ve seen photos of them. They always build their villages around water holes.”

Yoongi detected a new signal coming over the comms system and looked down at it.

“Someone’s trying to call us.” He picked up. There was no sound for a moment, then roaring static which filled the car with such a terrible noise that they all jumped.

He immediately switched it off, wincing.

“My god,” Yves said. “What the hell was that?”

They were closing in on the colony. Yoongi lowered their altitude and they could see the network of houses more clearly. There was no colour in any of it. The coastline far beyond ahead was bald, dead trees dotting the beach. Yoongi searched for a bare patch on the mesa to land on.

They heard sharp sounds, like stones being thrown against metal.

“Something’s dropping on the spinner,” Jinsoul said, after listening in terse silence. She turned in her seat and checked out of the window.

“Hail?” Jungkook asked. “Are they hailstones?”

“Sounds like rocks,” Yves said.

The sounds grew sharper and Yoongi realised that whatever it was had been causing the spinner to shake. He tried to steer it away. The sounds continued. Something hit the window right next to him and left a faint mark on it.

“That’s not a _rock_ ,” Jinsoul said, staring over to his side. “Those are goddamned bullets.”

Yoongi started descending altitude quickly, but the shelling grew more intense, until finally he had to consider an emergency crash landing. He went straight for the grey pool of water in the middle of the colony.

The spinner plunged into the pond and skidded a short way from where it landed, coming to rest near the middle of it. The waves their landing created left streaks of dirt on all sides of the windows, rocks knocking against the doors of the vehicle. Yoongi jammed hard on the brakes, causing the engines to sputter and die down.

They sat there, breathing heavy and fast, the sounds of water lapping against the side of the spinner. The gunshots had stopped. He switched off the cabin interior lights and checked all the mirrors.

“Are you guys alright?” he asked.

No one replied.

There were people moving down the bank towards them, big-sized people in Soviet-era coats and dirty faces. There were mountains of what looked like trash piled in between the huts.

“Doesn’t look like they’re very friendly,” Yves said, reaching for her gun. “I think they were the ones shooting at us. Oh god.”

The people stopped at the edge of the water, staring at the spinner. A few of them stepped into the water and started trekking their way over.

“These guys just killed our engine,” Yoongi said, trying the ignition again. “Maybe it would have been a good idea to radio them first before landing.”

Jinsoul had her hand pressed on the door. “I’m going out.”

“They’re armed,” Yves said. “They’ll shoot you once you get out.”

“Someone has to do it.” Jinsoul held her hand out. “Anybody wanna lend me something?”

The people stopped where they were and stood very still. Someone back on the dry land started shouting orders and a few of them back there raised their guns - antique, but probably working.

“They’re not shooting,” Jinsoul said. “The hell’s wrong with them?”

“Would you rather they did?’ Yves said, moving from her seat to get out of the car. “We can’t make them agitated again.”

As soon as the door opened, the gun shots started again.

“Wanna take your words back?” Jinsoul called out from where she was.

Yves made a quick work of firing at the trash piles to push the crowd back. More people were coming out of the huts now - small families, little children. A couple of dogs, which Jungkook sat up and noticed.

She held her stance.

“We’re lost,” she called. “Can you help us?”

Someone shouted back at her, in a foreign language that only she seemed to understand, and replied to them with. When no one else moved, she started forward.

“This place is a wasteland,” she said. “They’re only afraid of the police and raiders.”

The four of them stepped through the black knee-deep water unharmed, crowds of people still watching them. Someone moved out from the mass - probably their leader - and reached a hand to help them all up. He had the gruff, weather-beaten face of a fur trapper.

He spoke in that same rapid-fire language that everyone else there used, Yves carrying on the conversation with a kind of persuasive desperation. They went back and forth, heatedly negotiating something with more explanation on her part. One of the dogs had sidled up to them and was walking quietly behind. Jungkook kept turning back to look at it.

The guy gave the rest of them an apprehensive look, then turned and walked up the rock-littered bank, motioning for them to follow.

Yves seemed to have gotten some success with whatever she was demanding, still speaking and turning back to gesture at the rest of them as they walked. They were moving towards one of the huts, a low, single-storeyed room with a chimney sticking out of the top, smoke pouring out of it.

They entered, finding wooden benches at a long table. It was dark inside, thick with the sullied smell of old rainwater and garbage. Yves had tucked her gun away.

“He said they’re all trash collectors. The helicopter is the only thing that comes every day with rubbish from the city.”

“So why’d they shoot us down?” Yoongi said.

“Your call sign registers automatically as a spinner from the city. When they didn’t receive a reply, they thought we were the police.”

The man came back and settled himself onto the bench opposite them. He said something to Yves, and Yoongi noticed that his teeth were blackened from metal poisoning.

“He’ll get someone to help us fix the spinner.”

“So we’ll have to wait?”

Yves translated the question.

“A night,” she said, turning back to them. “It’s nearly evening already, anyway.”

Yoongi took the electric mouse out of his pocket. “Can we ask him about this?”

Yves looked down at it, then reached out to take it and said something to the old guy. He frowned at first, but there was some sign of recognition in his face when Yves told him about Sumire.

He took it and turned it around, started speaking slow and monotonous. Yves listened to him talk for a while, then started translating bits of information to them at certain intervals of silence.

“They made the animals in a factory … there used to be an engineer who lived here in the time after Nostrum. They think Sumire either came here or was born here but nobody kept records back then, so they don’t know.”

She paused. People were clattering about in the background, bringing things in and out of the hut. Long logs of compacted trash, sackcloth, tarpaulins. Yoongi watched them work, his attention starting to drift.

“Oh. She died a few years ago. Someone’s carrying on the trade … suppliers from the replicants in the city.”

She stopped to ask him something. He replied.

“Hang on … they know what the RFM is.”

Yoongi had been resting his face in his hand the whole time. He sat up slightly at this.

“Can you ask them if they’re in contact with other colonies?”

Yves turned back to him.

“He said yes.” She stopped to let him continue his sentence. “They’re all connected … they know about the ones living undercover in the city. Sumire lived here for a while.”

“Ask him if they know about Sumire’s child.” He waited, watching the man’s reaction.

“They know about it.” Yves took the electric animal back and set it on the table before Yoongi. “It’s the incident that started the movement, in fact. The 1057 number is symbolic to them … a clarion call, if you will. A nice way to put it.”

Viiane had obviously painted that number on his door as a kind of protest against the kind of work that he was doing, perhaps indicating Olivia’s existence and the RFM. That was what the birth meant to them - a kind of hope for something bigger than being produced by a corporation.

And if Olivia had knowledge of a movement that was rallied around her birth, there might have been reason to escape and find its members.

“Are they able to help us contact the colonies?” Yoongi said, trying to choose his words carefully. “Ask around if anyone has received a person going by the name of Olivia.”

The man listened to the request with some hesitation. He agreed to do it, after a little more explanation by Yves, which she didn’t bother to translate in great detail.

“He’ll help us, but we have to promise not to tell anyone that there’s a colony here. They don’t want to reveal themselves.”

“Of course we won’t.” Yoongi shook his head. “We appreciate their help.”

The man got up from his seat with great effort and went out, leaving the rest of them inside. Nobody else came in after that, save for one of the dogs which lingered at the doorway.

“He seems to like you,” Yves said, smiling at Jungkook, who was reaching his hand out to the edge of the table.

“It’s not real, is it?” he asked.

She shrugged. “A hologram.”

Now the thing was up on the benches across them, placing its paws on the table. Jungkook’s hand went right through its head.

“It’s probably just for show,” Jinsoul said, watching the motion with some boredom. “I’ll bet they don’t even bark.”

Later, Jinsoul and Yves stood outside, watching a crowd of villagers drag the spinner to dry land with ropes as thick as an arm. A large excavator, presumably used for scooping up trash, had been deployed to help with the work. They worked in the harsh illumination of spotlights built around the circumference of the lake.

Yoongi watched from the table, where he was sharing a bland chunk of bread with Jungkook, alternating it with sips of hot water. Wind, when it blew in, was chilly and laced with the stench of garbage and salt.

“It’s a little difficult to eat inside here,” Jungkook admitted. He broke a piece of bread off and chewed on it. Yoongi managed a sympathetic smile. Jungkook’s eyes were a little swollen.

“You don’t have to eat if it’s that bad.”

“No.” Jungkook shook his head, speaking with his mouth full. “I’m hungry.”

Jinsoul took one morsel of bread and ate it, but wrinkled her nose at the taste. Yves couldn’t eat with the smell hanging around. She tried to go outside, but it wasn’t any better.

They went to bed still a little hungry. Someone had given them old rugs to sleep on, laid out in a circle on the floor. In dim lantern light, the hut was quiet. Yoongi realised belatedly that it was just a warehouse for storing trash to be burnt, and the smell was something that would stick to their clothes and their hair.

He lay flat on his back, mentally tracing the outlines of ceiling beams in the dark. People were working outside near the pond, and he could hear the occasional shout of one of the workers as they tried to move something. Lights and sounds from outside came in through the half-open door.

Jungkook turned over on his mat, opposite him. He could hear their subdued breathing.

“What did they break?” Yves said, lying on her side. “They’re making so much noise.”

“Rotors overheated when I tried to drive out of the water. Forgot to pump the brake pads.” Yoongi closed his eyes for a beat while he spoke. “They also shelled the bonnet. Something broke inside there too.”

They kept the silence, listening to the sound of some wagon being dragged across the rocky ground outside.

“You know,” Jinsoul said with amusement in her voice, “I’ve seen many things that you guys probably haven’t seen in your life, but sleeping in a dumpster with strangers is probably going to be one of the most memorable things I’ve done.”

Yoongi continued to look up at the ceiling and said, “this place isn’t too bad, if you don’t mind the smell.”

“Didn’t Namjoon say you were a combat model?” Yves asked. “What memories do you have?”

“Oh, pretty strange and lovely things, especially near the Tannhauser Gate. Exploding ships and oil derricks which looked like Bedouin fires at dawn. You see a lot of those when you’re on Mars.”

Jinsoul stretched her arms up towards the ceiling and sighed, long and wistful.

“You’ve been to Mars?”

“A few times. Our team was slated for duty down there, typical combat stuff, fighting off some rebel groups in the big sandbox. When off-duty we’d just sit there at dusk and watch those C-beams.” She shifted on the mat. “The ships and red flying comets glittering in the dark. Really beautiful. But that’s where we found out, actually.”

“Found out what?”

“The conflict on Mars was supposed to be simple. Guarding Wallace’s base there from rebel groups. But we found out that those rebel groups were made of the same people as us. Everybody there was a replicant and we were all fighting each other. It’s a war that you’ll never win.”

She ran one hand over her face, and in the dark it looked like she was rubbing something from it.

“It’s Wallace’s sandbox and we were all toys inside it. Doing things without knowing why.”

“You grew a conscience.” Yves moved her head slightly to glance at her. “So you ran away from everything.”

“Turns out that running away from it isn’t going to do you any good because the problem follows you everywhere.” A pause. “You go someplace else thinking that it will be different. It won’t. That time you’re given is the same wherever you go and that’s all you’ll know and remember.”

“So why are you doing all this?”

“Because it’s better than what I used to do. Finding a cure … living, even dying for it. That’s the most human thing I can do. To me, at least.”

She turned over on her side. Her voice hung above their heads like cobwebs in a dusty room.

“I don’t actually need a conscience. No heaven or hell for us. Only Earth. That’s all we’ve got. But you still gotta live with some sort of purpose, don’t you?”

Nobody said anything after that.

\---

The sounds of loud talking woke them up at the crack of dawn, when there was a marmalade smudge of morning in the sky, visible through the doorway. The door had blown open in the night and Yoongi woke up to the smelly cold wind blowing in on his back.

He didn’t know what time it was.

The man who’d stomped into the room was pushing a wheelbarrow filled with dirt and empty aluminium cans. He walked up to them on dusty boots and stopped near the table.

He said something to Yves in a rough voice, all harsh-edged consonants and smoke coming out of his breath.

Yoongi rolled over onto his back to look up at the guy. It was dark and he couldn’t make out his face, but the man still stood there, watching them. Yoongi sat up slowly and gave him a dull stare.

The man seemed to be waiting for her to reply. When she didn’t, he asked her another question, which she stiffly answered.

The man turned on his heel and pushed the wheelbarrow out. She sat up where she was and met Yoongi’s eye.

“That dude’s creepy,” she said. “He kept coming in last night. Just stood at the door for a few minutes, watching us each time.”

Yoongi ran a hand through his messy hair and remembered to check the time.

“What did he say?”

“They found Olivia. He told us to go look for the elder at the dumpsite.”

Yoongi rubbed his cold hands together.

“I’d like to know whether they fixed up the spinner.” Yves got to her feet and pulled her shoes on, going to the door. She stood at the entrance for a while, looking out. “Because it’s not there anymore.”

Yoongi reached for his bag and unzipped it, searching for something. “They probably parked it somewhere else.”

There was a faint sound behind and he turned around. Jungkook sat up, rubbing at his eyes with both thumbs.

“I don’t like this,” Yves said. She took her raincoat from where it had been left out to dry on the long table “Can we go now?”

“Give me some time.”

Jinsoul laughed from where she was and sat up. Her hair was a mess.

“People say it’s good to sleep on a hardwood floor,” she said, rubbing along her shoulders. “But it hurts so much.”

Yves was putting her raincoat on. “This isn’t even wood.”

They found the spinner parked on an empty patch of land behind the huts, stacked between trash piles at the dumpsite, as promised. A large helicopter approached from the distance and rained down a load of rubbish onto a distant part of the dumpsite. This continued for about ten seconds before it retreated back into the gloomy sky. A line of people with shovels and wheelbarrows were already heading towards that fresh heap.

The man with blackened teeth was waiting there for them. Yves said something to him. He returned her greeting, speaking as he rose from the upturned bin that he was sitting on.

“He said they got a signal reply from one of the colonies near Wallace. Olivia’s hiding there.”

“For how long?”

Yves asked the man. He adjusted the cap on his head and gestured at the spinner.

“He doesn’t know. They said they’ll look out for our call sign and dial you in advance.”

They boarded the spinner. Yoongi tested the controls, leaving the engine to run for a while. His fingers were near numb from standing outside in the cold. Jungkook took the passenger seat out of curiosity, watched the coordinates light up on the screen.

“Is it back to Wallace?” he asked.

“The place is near Wallace.” Yoongi looked over at him as the engine warmed up. “Why, are you getting cold feet?”

Jungkook touched Yoongi’s fingers, which were resting on the gear shift.

“Your hands are colder than mine,” he said.

“I’ll turn up the heater.”

They sat there in comfortable silence. Jinsoul stayed outside, leaning against the bonnet to warm herself up. Yves was still talking to the elder. The villagers were coming back with piled wheelbarrows, wobbling their way through the dirty tracks.

So they were going back to Wallace at last. On the way, they discussed their options while studying the headquarters layout on the screen.

Jinsoul was participating very eagerly in the discussion.

“The colony should detect us before we enter the surrounding city,” Yoongi said, moving the cursor around the map with his finger. “We’ll get the coordinates from them early and dock wherever they tell us to dock. We have to do it fast because they don’t want to compromise their location.”

“If we find Olivia at wherever this colony is, we’ll have to split up when we reach Wallace.” Jinsoul had indicated the rough location of the computer centre on the map. “You can drop me off above the building and I’ll bid you adieu.”

A stunned silence filled the spinner.

“You’re not coming back?” Yoongi said.

“I didn’t intend to. This was supposed to be a one-way trip.”

“But why?” Yves asked.

“I’ll send this antivirus in and let it work out. There’s nothing else out here for me, anyway.” She pushed her hair behind her ear, looking out of the window. “Even if I went back, it’ll just be another two years of running away from them until I expire. Might as well go back and finish my combat duty.”

Yoongi gave her a nervous glance in the rear-view mirror. He’d heard stories like this before - escaped replicants backtracking to Wallace to avoid meeting up with some grisly death with a blade runner, only to be let back in and promptly executed.

“Wallace kills returning replicants,” he said. “Once you’re deemed emotionally deviant, they don’t recall you to the original post.”

There was silence as the information sank in. The placid expression on her face didn’t change. He didn’t want to argue with her, so they went on the rest of the way in silence.

They’d been tailed on the way back. Yoongi locked on to the drone in his GPS radar. It was unnamed, unidentified, but the model was something he’d seen before. The thing started following them as soon as they entered Wallace city territory.

And it wasn’t doing anything, just following behind them at a distance. He tried to make a turn at one of the buildings, but the machine suddenly surged up, getting closer.

“I’ll have to shake this thing off,” he said. He took his gun out and aimed at the drone through the open window. The first shot missed. He didn't dare to try again.

“It’s not a warfare model,” Jinsoul remarked, observing it in the mirror as it moved behind. “Some antique version. Built to self-destruct.”

“Could’ve sworn I’ve seen it somewhere before.”

He swerved the spinner, losing focus for a moment, and the whole vehicle lurched forward. The thing still followed him.

“Then maybe it’s going to destroy itself on top of us.”

Jungkook had placed both hands over his ears.

“Don’t kill us, Yoongi,” Jinsoul said, watching the drone in the side mirror. “I don’t want to die before I get to Wallace.”

He tried to veer off the straight course that they were heading on, only to hear a warning shot from the drone.

“Did it just -”

“No," Jinsoul chided. "It’s not hitting us yet.”

He carried on in a straight line for a while before attempting to pull away. The drone went down and clipped the side of their spinner. Yves leaned away from the window at the impact.

“Look, just keep going forward.” Jinsoul reached over to pull on the controls. “The way this thing’s moving, it wants us to go somewhere. It’s rounding us like a dog moves sheep. If you keep to the route it won’t hurt you.”

So they followed the trail, moving in the direction that they were forced to move in, finding themselves directed out of the built-up area into darker skies, a bare patch of land ahead which was on fire. The drone was forcing them down, veering too close to the roof of the spinner and forcing Yoongi to drop altitude by a few metres.

“This is another trap,” he was murmuring. “We shouldn’t have -”

“Look out,” Jinsoul cut in, and pulled them to a hard left. They smashed down into the field, going so hard and fast that the seats were rattling. He stopped the car - the new brakes working all-too well - and they were all jerked forward as it came to a sharp halt.

They were sitting on some kind of crop circle, the flames licking in closer.

“Seems like they got us right where they wanted us.” Yoongi said. He took his gun and reached out to wind the window down.

Then, suddenly, the drone nosedived from where it was and crashed into the ground in front of them.

They watched in dumbfounded silence. In the dark blue sky ahead, they could see a person standing in the smoke, something raised high above their head. The person was moving towards them.

Yoongi swore and put the vehicle into reverse, wheels spinning rapidly on the ground. The person walked into the path of the spinner, stood there illuminated in the headlights. White turtleneck, dark red trench coat.

It was her.

He stopped the spinner, picking the gun up again.

But Olivia was lowering the thing she had been holding - some kind of stick, with a flaming end. She dropped it to the ground and came over to his side of the vehicle with the slow, deliberate stride of a night watchman. Yoongi wound the glass down.

“I shot the drone,” she said in a cold monotone. “If you’re just going to kill me, do it quickly.”

“Who told us to come here?”

“This is a trap.” She looked up into the sky, face expressionless. “They’ll send another one here too, if you don’t leave now.”

“I’m not going to kill you. Get in.”

So she got on, not wanting to waste any time explaining. They headed back to the main road, Yoongi steering the spinner as best as he could despite the hindrance of one broken wheel from the crash.

He turned back slightly to address her. “The people who contacted us - it wasn’t RFM?”

“It was. They wanted to take your spinner down with that drone but realised that the ship was carrying replicants inside it.” She paused. “So RFM told me to wait here and kill you, but I kind of figured out why you would be looking for me. I decided not to.”

“They … told you to kill me.”

“I don’t want to be part of their revolution.” Her expression didn’t change. “They knew you were coming as a blade runner and they couldn’t risk it.”

“Then why did you run away from Wallace?”

“I recognised the orphanage from his memories. 1057. The tag given to me.” She glanced over at Jungkook. “Wallace transferred all my memories to implants and injected me with something to make me slowly forget, but they missed a few.”

The sky outside was still evenly dark.

“You said something about an injection,” Jungkook said, peering carefully at her. “Was it the immunisation in the white room?”

“It’s not an immunisation. I’ve seen those syringes before. They’re used for injecting and inserting viruses into implants. After that, that’s when they put me into the septic tank. Dark room, dark water, like drowning.” Jungkook nodded along with her. “Because of the quarantine process. I’m sorry you had to remember that for me.”

“But how did the memories get into me?”

“I made them when I started out with this whole memory designing business. I knew it was illegal, but they were only supposed to be backups and I never thought they would end up in someone else’s mind.”

“Wait -” Jinsoul looked back at her. “That means you had the virus all along.”

Olivia gave her an impassive glance. “It probably leaked out from my facility and went into the control centre. Wallace couldn’t contain it after that and that’s how all this happened.”

At this, Jinsoul looked down at the pouch in her hands.

“RFM didn’t know you were the born child?” Yoongi asked.

“After I escaped, they found me and staged a rescue, like that was going to be of any use.” The slightest sardonic smile was visible on her face. “Then they really tried to make me join their forces. They told me about the child born at 1057 and how they were searching for her to make her the leader of the movement.”

She stared out of the window, eyes still hard and unfeeling.

“They didn’t need me. They only needed the idea of me to continue their revolution. Everyone says that the child is so important when they can’t even recognise her when she’s standing in front of them.” She folded her arms. “RFM is fine as they are. They’ll fight their own fight and I don’t want anything to do with it.”

Yoongi opened his bag up and searched for the letter and transcribed notes, passing them over to her.

“We actually travelled to 1057 before this. Your father left the orphanage with something.”

Olivia took them, frowning slightly, and curled into her corner to read. They all waited in silence until she finally put the letter down with a half-hearted sigh.

“So my father set all this up.” She pulled her silver Wallace dog tag from where she was still wearing it around her neck. “I don’t suppose he knows what happened to me.”

“He did it to protect you.”

“That’s what everyone always says, but it cheapens the sentiment.”

Yves waited for a while before asking. “Did you ever suspect you were born, Olivia?”

She folded the letters up, took out the items in the resealable bag and looked through them with an uncanny detachment, like she was poring over museum exhibits.

“It doesn’t feel real, somehow. I don’t think I fully understand any of this yet.”

She held the electric mouse up to the weak light, dangling it by one of its paws.

“Sure I’ve seen this before, but it’s like learning about the life of someone else. I used to be this kid. I’m not this kid anymore but I have to go back to being her because I can’t be anything else but child number 1057 here. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“No, you don’t.” She looked up at him. “It’s so scary, finding out that everyone wants a piece of you. When you’re born into something that you don’t want any part of.”

“Happens to a lot of people.” Yoongi slowed down at a bend in the road. “Nobody has a choice.”

They drove without saying anything for a while.

“Where are you taking me to?”

“I have a plan, but you’ll have to agree to it.” He paused. “Go back to your father.”

“How?”

“I can’t follow you there. I don’t have the time or means to, but I know someone who can do it. He’s been evading the law his whole life.”

Olivia was silent for a long time, twisting the silver tag between her fingers. He eventually stopped the spinner at the road shoulder and turned around, waiting for her decision.

“So?”

“Okay.” Olivia stared at the letter. “That’s the only home left.”

“You’re sure?”

She nodded.

He dropped her off at the space station later with nothing but the small collection of things left behind - the toys, dog tag, a letter. He paid Yokai to do the job. Yokai had signed out as a private craft with commercial cargo and he could smuggle her in the back of it. Using it was a safer route than taking the normal shuttle service.

He was waiting for them at the landing strip, trying to smoke in the chilly air and shower spray. His spacecraft was a massive metal thing parked behind him, hulking and grey in the dark. The airfield was dotted with pinpricks of red and green, like holiday lights.

“Lost child, eh?” Yokai said, after hearing the explanation. “Don’t worry, I’ve done illegal runs all my life. Will get her there without a scrape.”

It had all the makings of a lost child returning home. 134340, the last planet in the solar system. Nearly forgotten, but still there, and she just had to get herself out, put herself back where she belonged. Quiet and uneventful, not like the way she’d come crashing down into the world.

Like the way she wanted things to be.

Later, they watched the departure silently, outside on the road beside the station. Yokai’s shuttle curved into the air, trailing a long flaming tail behind it.

“Who knows what will happen there,” Yves murmured. “I hope she finds what she’s looking for.”

The inky starless sky. Nothing beautiful about it then, but it seemed to draw a heavy breath out of all of them, seeing it fade out into the clouds. They waited until the light of it disappeared.

On the map, Yoongi turned the spinner back towards Wallace. That little blinking arrowhead on the GPS gave him a sense of purpose, a direction to follow.

“Last stop,” he said to all of them. “Let’s make it a good one.”

\---

They approached the building. Yoongi rounded it, searching for the roof of the block which housed the computer centre. Up here, the lights on top of all those buildings formed constellations in the dark.

“You’re just going to drop me there,” Jinsoul said to Yoongi, this eerie stillness to her voice. “And leave.”

He didn’t reply. He located the block and began to descend. Slowly now, he thought. He’d never touched down on Wallace property without radioing in before. The seconds seemed to stretch on forever before he got enough confirmation on the controls to make a quiet landing.

Now they were on the roof.

“Do you know where to go?” Yoongi asked, pushing a button to unlock the doors.

“Relax. I’ve been studying this place for a few months. I’ve been preparing for this.” She took the pouch and removed one of the cards from it, leaving the rest behind.

“Can you - give us a call when you’re in there? Just to let us know how you’re doing.”

Jinsoul had her hand on the door handle. The coloured lights on her face contorted it into a mass of shadows.

“Yeah, okay.”

She looked around at all of them for a few seconds, looking like she wanted to say something, but didn’t. They watched her descend through the roof access staircase.

Yoongi kept the engine idling while they waited.

She called them. He saw the notification and let out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. He picked up the call.

“There’s someone coming towards you,” Jinsoul said. “From the driver’s cabin. At your two o’clock. A spinner. I can see it on the radar.”

“Did you upload the thing yet?”

“Yeah. I’m waiting for it to start spreading in the system.” She sounded freakishly calm about the whole thing. “You should do something about that spinner if you want to make it out there alive. I think it’s going to collide with you.”

Yoongi left her hanging and pulled their vehicle to another section of the roof. In a few minutes, he could see what Jinsoul was talking about. The sight made him sick with dread.

“Stay where you are,” he said. “We’ll deal with it.”

He checked the window, saw the large black hovercraft landing on the roof just beside the giant billboard.

Yves turned to him. “Is that your Wallace representative?”

“They got here too late,” Yoongi said. “They won’t find what they’re looking for.”

He dimmed the cabin lights to see more clearly. Jungeun was standing inside the spinner. Some people were stepping out of the back - guys in waterproof jackets with their faces covered.

“Looks like she doesn’t do the dirty work.”

Jungeun stood there in the rain looking around, a huge red poncho over her coat. The guys were going over to their spinner.

Yoongi got out and waited for them. The billboard above their heads shielded the rooftop from the buffeting wind, left red reflections in the water gathering under their feet.

Those guys stopped a short distance away from him and waited for Jungeun to catch up. He couldn’t see their faces under the dark visors, but none of them were holding any weapons, so he didn’t show his.

Jungeun took her time to approach.

“Where’s the girl?”

Yoongi levelled her stare and didn’t reply.

“Olivia,” she said. “You’re required, by Wallace, to surrender her to me.”

“Never heard of her.”

She breathed calm and flat, though he could see that she was already thinking of what she would have to do next. What she had to do with him, with all of them.

The next thing she did confirmed this. He’d expected it, and grabbed her wrist with his right arm before it could descend anywhere near his head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, releasing it when she stopped resisting.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Shouldn’t you be searching somewhere else?”

She looked him up and down, intently searching for something, then turned to address those two tall guys, who had no names and were only identified by the letters D and K on their shining visor plates.

“Disarm him.”

Yoongi moved his hand downwards, but they pushed him up against the side of the spinner with bruising force, found and took his gun away. Then they stayed on either side of him, held stiffly onto his arms and didn’t let go.

Jungeun took the gun from them and waved it slightly in his face.

“You’re going to take me down there and show me where your little sidekick is.”

“Find her yourself.”

This time she really did strike him, hard, across the side of the face. It was quick and precise, left that part of his head burning. Behind him, he heard someone moving inside the spinner and turned around. Jungkook had gotten out of the other side, hand still on the door.

“Wasn’t he supposed to be dead?” she asked. “So you’re a necromancer now, huh?”

“Fuck you.”

“Behave yourself,” she said, then turned to the brutes standing next to him. “Move.”

Yoongi struggled against them, holding himself back. Then Jungkook was upon them, pushed the one on his right with such force that all of them were dragged down. He got hold of the neck and held it there, held it tight, brought his other fist down to connect with the face and split its features apart. The large slit down the inner sleeve of his jacket had torn and was now gaping wide open, and for some reason, Yoongi could only focus on the bloodless cut in there as they struggled.

Jungeun watched them scuffle on the floor in the rain.

“You won’t win even if you kill them, Jungkook. Trust me on this one.”

The other brute got up, dragged Yoongi over and bashed his head into Jungkook’s, forcing them both to the floor. Jungkook rolled out of it, pushed himself up and hooked his legs around the fellow’s legs, bringing him face down into the rainwater. He got to a half-kneel, pulled the guy towards him by his head and stuck both hands into that exposed mouth, between the two jaws. The guy guessed what was happening and started biting down, his teeth clamping into fingers. He pushed himself up against Jungkook and leaned on him with his weight, got his hands free and clawed everywhere at Jungkook’s face and neck, leaving bloody trails, which ran with the rainwater.

Yoongi tried to get up, but his injured arm was being pulled at by the guy who got his face smashed in. It was all blood there, under the cracked visor, one mechanical eye gleaming crazily through. Without really thinking, Yoongi brought his hand down there, in that spot, and found a loose fold to rip at. He tried to shut out the howling that ensued, and the grip on his arm loosened.

He immediately pulled back. The guy was breathing heavily, all those parts of his face now torn out, exposing the intricate synthetic underneath. Yoongi took his hand out of the cavity, gazed at all the blood there, then became aware of the choked howling in the background.

The guy under him was still breathing. He would need serious facial repairs.

Jungkook had been pulling on both ends of that other poor dude’s jaws, pulled harder with the howling until there was a cracking sound somewhere and Jungkook finally dropped him, shaking his hands out. There were deep teeth marks in the skin of his fingers and palms.

Then he looked down, slowly pulled a long, sharp shiny thing from his abdomen area and threw it into a puddle nearby. A serrated switchblade, the standard-issue Wallace one which Jinsoul had been using. The blood on it was clotted, half-dried and glistening there under wet neon light like pomegranate seeds.

Yoongi got up shakily and went over. He’d barely made it a few steps when Jungeun pointed the gun in their direction and fired, a loud sound that elicited a scream from where Yves was. Jungeun turned and noticed her inside. She fired at the windows twice, only shattering the glass, but didn’t pursue it. She was in the spinner. She was safe.

Jungkook had doubled over, hand on his abdomen. Yoongi quickly moved and crouched down, trying to speak to him, to say something, but no words came out. He tried to see what was behind, touched his bloody hand very lightly.

This hadn’t just happened. It was too soon, too fast for him to comprehend.

“He’s dying,” Jungeun said. Her voice sounded faraway. “Come on, roll it up and let him see.”

A few minutes passed before Jungkook took his hand away. A clot on his palm.

That rip through the cloth had no blood pouring out of it. Jungkook pulled the hem of the shirt up, exposing the whole area of his abdomen, where the flesh had gone cold and pale. Any blood that came out of the burnt wound was clotted and copper-coloured, only running down in rivulets from the rain.

“You didn’t tell me,” Yoongi said, his voice too weak to be heard. He was tired. So tired. “You didn’t tell me about this.”

“Can’t stop the march of time.” Jungeun walked over and stopped a few paces before them, her gun still aimed at him. “It looks at you and all you can do is smile back. He’s replaceable. So am I. So are you. I’ve been kept around here long enough to tell you that the city doesn’t give a fuck about anyone.”

She paused to push a few damp locks of hair away from her face.

“Am I right? It’s all in the name of progress. Cities change. People die. Everything you know goes away.”

For a long minute, there was only the sound of rain beating down on the concrete.

“Stop trying to fight it, Mr Min.”

Yoongi raised his head, managed to look up at her through the rain. Nothing. He didn’t feel anything. He’d spared her first but now even that wasn’t working. There was no energy left in him to strike back.

Nobody moved until Jungeun went to the roof access hatch and opened the door, stopping right in front of the entrance. She waited there for a few seconds, staring down the stairs like she was thinking very hard about something.

“A replicant’s life is one big tangled ball of wool,” she began, not looking at him. “The beginning starts from nothing and ends to nothing. I didn’t kill anybody. You did.”

She moved down, turning as if to close the door, but stopped.

“You’re the blade runner,” she added, then flung the gun down to where he was. “Do your fucking job.”

The door closed.

Yoongi crawled forward a bit to get the gun and looked at it like he was examining the thing for the first time. Then he turned and saw Jungkook, kneeling down in the rain. He looked like he was praying.

_No heaven or hell for us. Earth’s the only place we have._

Yoongi patted his shoulder and helped him stand up.

“Let’s go home,” he said, not really believing it himself.

They walked back slowly, Jungkook’s arm slung around the back of his neck for support. He pulled the backdoor open and Jungkook crumpled onto the seat, rainwater and all. Yves had gone down to the floor of the car at the sound of the first gunshot, looking pale.

“You’re alive,” she said. “I thought she got you.”

“I thought she got you.” Yoongi said, staring at her. “When she shot at the window.”

They helped Jungkook sit up properly. Yves took one look at the gunshot wound and sucked her breath in through her teeth.

“He doesn’t have much time left.” Yoongi tried not to look at it. “I … I want to get us all out of here before that happens.”

“As in -” Yves slowly realised from the silence. “Oh. Oh my god.”

Yoongi shut the door and got in at the driver’s seat. He realised that the call had been left on hold the entire time.

“Jinsoul,” he said into the speaker. “Are you there?”

Nothing.

“Jinsoul, come back. We’re leaving.” He stopped. “The lady’s going down to find you.”

He waited, slowly reversing the spinner out of its corner. A sharp sound came over the speaker, and he quickly stopped reversing to listen.

“Guys -”

It was her.

Sharp screeching sounds, too much feedback on the speaker. Then, “I can’t believe you’re still there. What the hell are you guys doing here?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m still in Wallace, duh.”

“I’ll go over there and pick you up. We need to leave. The lady’s coming for you.”

For a few seconds, she said nothing. Then she laughed, a very bitter and jarring sound.

“ _You guys_. The antivirus upload is a success, but I’ve made up my mind and I’m not coming back. There’s a room full of new Nexus-9 models. There are so many of them, and your representative is coming down to find me. I can pull the plug on this place and cause an immediate current overload in a few minutes.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Yoongi said. “We’re still up here. Come back now.”

“I want to do this.”

He pressed his hands on the dashboard as he spoke, like he would be able to pull her back from there. “Come back now. Please.”

“All of us didn’t meet in the best circumstances.” She steadied her voice and ploughed on. “Shit, in another world we might even have been friends. You guys gave me a chance. That’s more than enough.”

“Jinsoul -”

“I’ve already done it, so be quiet and go now. It’ll be fine,” she said, and the way she said it was too tender, too peaceful, “- this … this is for the thing I once saw on the roadside, its tears gone in the rain -”

Yves was urging Yoongi to leave. He kept quiet, driving to the edge of the building and getting the throttles ready. Something stuck in his throat and no amount of swallowing would get it down.

Jinsoul never finished what she wanted to say, cutting herself off mid-sentence.

“- Time to die.”

And then she was gone. Yoongi was already pulling the spinner up and away from the roof when all the lights in the building went out. A heartbeat later, the windows on the top storey re-lit with the bright yellow of flames.

He looked back once, and he couldn’t bring himself to look back at it again.

They stopped somewhere else, just on top of an old building opposite one of the best views he knew existed here. A wide bay of foggy roads below, the riot of sparkling city lights and advertisements all over in front - blue, red, green, pink.

Jungkook got out of the spinner and limped to the edge, sitting as far as he dared to go. The rain had wet his hair completely, plastering it all over the front of his forehead and eyes in limp curled strands. Yoongi sank down in the wet spot next to him and put one arm around him to pull him close, closer than they’d ever gotten.

There was too much to say and he didn’t know how to say it all now.

“You did well,” he kept telling him in his faintest voice. “You heard what Jinsoul said? Don’t worry.”

“I only wanted to help.”

“You did more than that.” Yoongi brought his hand up to touch the side of Jungkook’s neck, the side of his head like he was checking for a fever, then brought it back down to his shoulder. “You’re so much more than that.”

The weight against his side grew heavier. Jungkook was slowly tipping over into him.

“Remember me,” Jungkook said, with a kind of quiet desperation. “And I’ll remember you.”

He kept looking out to all those buildings, catching their spangled lights in his eyes.

“You aren’t crying, are you?” Yoongi said, looking at his wet face and trying to muster up a smile. “Nobody cries in the rain.”

And that rain slanted down like marionette strings, made everything blurry, so that all the buildings and roads were slowly blending into one another. It didn’t feel like they were sitting up there at all. Like the city was just floating in its own illumination and they were suspended somewhere in the middle of that.

None of it looked real.

“Hyung,” Jungkook said, “all those lights … that big thing on the building -”

The large spinning holographic alert on the tallest tower - a garish fuzzy red for the virus crisis.

“- It looks like the sun.”

Then he smiled and leaned his head on Yoongi’s shoulder. The weight of it was real, and it hurt but Yoongi let it hurt everywhere.

They sat near the edge just like that, Yoongi feeling the heat slowly slip away from his side. He tried to memorize the way this moment hung there brightly and burned like an illusion, keeping his hand where it was, wrapped around Jungkook until they both grew cold and numb under the wind. Everything around him was soaked through - the water running down inside his shirt, dripping off his nose and chin, chilling him to the bone.

To be finally there - out there and around in the damp air - mixing oneself up in the soul of the city. To finally be sleeping the big sleep. It was as simple as that.

He heard footsteps behind, rubber soles in wet puddles. Yves came over and stood just beside him, hand shielding her eyes from the rain. He looked up and saw her. They didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“You liked him, didn’t you?”

Yoongi didn’t reply, just blinked through the water like he couldn’t see her properly.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him, talk to him. I know what it feels like.” She sat down beside Yoongi, raincoat crinkling under her weight. “But don’t take it too hard on yourself.”

“I’m not.”

“You will, after all this blows over. He’s done his life’s work and you were there to see it through. That’s it. That’s all that really matters.”

She stopped and breathed in slowly, then let it all out.

“You made him happy too. He told us back at the plane wreckage, all cheesy and shy when I asked him about it.” A small laugh. “Said he knew from the start that he would follow you anywhere.”

Yoongi kept quiet, letting those words simmer in the resulting silence. A fat blimp came out of the foggy mist, trailing lights behind it.

They watched until it disappeared behind a building.

“You thought he was real?” Yoongi asked, turning to her. “When you first met him?”

“Yeah. Jinsoul too, until she told me on the train when we were going to your place. It’s hard to tell what’s real nowadays,” she said, with a slight tilt of her head, “but they’re as real to me as any human can get.”

And it was something he’d heard before. Maybe something he’d heard and tried to hold onto, which also didn’t last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [mood](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mKDS3cscp8M)  
> jungeun's quote came from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OdIAYP7fEuo)


	12. all neon-like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> epilogue: make peace with it

He went back to his apartment late at night, and it was all quiet. Some of the mess from before remained, like the first-aid box still placed on the couch, the bloody wad of tissues in the bin. Other than that, the air still felt the same, like he’d just popped out for a short trip to the supermarket and come back.

He spent the next week just aimlessly drifting around the apartment. Mr Yeung had given him a permanent job offer because of what he’d pulled off – eight retirements in a month. He told Mr Yeung that he needed time to consider it, and Mr Yeung told him to take all the time he needed.

So he had seven days of nothing much but sleeping and re-reading his magazines at home. He turned on the radio and heard a short piece about an explosion at Wallace, killing twenty-five employees, destroying a whole batch of Nexus 9 models and JOI units. The culprit was still at large. He wondered if Jinsoul had cut off all the exterior cameras for them to escape.

Another piece of news from Wallace’s press release, about a mysterious antivirus had cropped up in system entry points across the city, a programme that, when installed, appeared to guard the device from the memory-eating Datura virus. At Wallace, they were working to extract a base code of the virus so they could hopefully develop a cure.

He smiled at that. It was funny, he thought, that Wallace didn’t know where the cure came from. But it was working, and he hoped Namjoon knew.

In the middle of the week, he went out in the evening to buy groceries with the bounty money. He stood in the supermarket for a long time, staring at the advertisements for Nexus 9 models and off-world colony houses. He went back home and sent in the rent payment to the landlord. He cleaned up the apartment to take his mind off the emptiness.

And while he was cleaning up the old photocopies of case files and biographies from his apartment to put into recycling, he found their photos - Jungkook and Jinsoul. Grim-looking ones.

He stared at them for a long time, then decided to leave them there for now, pegged above the piano.

On the last day of that week, Yves called him.

“How’s your week been?” she asked, just as he had expected.

“Fine.” He paused. “I got a lot of work done.”

“You’re feeling okay?”

“Yeah.”

He looked down at the photographs in the silence that followed, hoping she would leave it and hang up.

“Have you decided on the offer yet?”

A long pause.

“No.”

She kept quiet, just listening to him breathe through the phone like she could deduce something from the sound of it.

“You’re going to get an electric sheep,” she finally said. “I’ll help you.”

Yoongi looked around the apartment, the receiver still cradled in his shoulder.

“I don’t have space at home. Maybe it’s not a good idea anymore.”

“A holographic one?”

“I don’t have space for the projector either. My ceiling is going to collapse if I add anymore fixtures to it.”

“Get an emanator. It’s cheaper than the built-in model.”

He kept quiet.

“Come on. You’ve got to put some change into the routine. It's like, I can _hear_ the ennui in your voice.” A gentle pause. “Get down to the courtyard. I’ll be over in a while.”

She was waiting for him, emanator in hand. The courtyard was tired and deserted, still cold and washed-out in grey and slate blue.

“You bought one?” he asked, pulling his jacket on. “I didn’t –”

“I had a spare. You can take it.”

He examined the long, thin object. The Wallace insignia on the side was faded.

“How does this work, exactly?”

“Catch one, upload its data files into this thing. You can find old holograms anywhere in open spaces. Owners are always abandoning them out here when they buy the upgraded versions.”

“And you’re going to take me out there to look for one,” he said. “I knew it.”

She turned around and started out of courtyard, not giving him any time to argue.

“It’s a lovely evening, can’t you see?”

He sighed and followed her. They started back down the street, out to the wild patches of barren land that lay beyond the city periphery.

The field out there was blank, devoid of colour in the grey sky above. She was leading him right to the centre of it, picking their way through dead grass and vegetation.

“There’s nothing here,” he complained. “I don’t see any sheep.”

“You have to use the emanator. They’re not visible because the rain just drenches them out, but the virtual signature will remain there.”

She took it from him and pressed something on the top.

“This is the button for ‘read’. Read tells you search for virtual signatures. You can see all holograms that have passed or are currently still in the area.”

He watched in silence. The thin beam of light which came out from the other end swept a wide arc before them, turning the blank space into a three-dimensional projected green radar. Small hovering points indicated many floating serial numbers moving about.

“There’s your pick. Look at that. A whole herd of sheep to choose from.”

They watched the multitude of numbers move around.

“All of these are sheep?”

“Not just sheep, but holographic people too. That code there –” she said, pointing, “looks like the pioneer generation JOI model. The owner probably ditched the hologram here and disconnected it so they could buy a new one.”

“So which are the sheep?”

“Everything without an alphabet at the end. I counted twenty-six. If you move out, you’ll find more.”

“Do I just catch one?”

“Yeah. Tap on the number, here. It’ll materialise and you can have a look at it.”

He tried, with some hesitation.

The animal appeared where it was, under the floating serial number. It was standing there, doing something with its mouth that was meant to be a crude imitation of chewing grass. It looked a little stupid.

Yoongi couldn’t help chuckling at the sight.

“Do you want this one?” Yves asked.

“Sure.”

“Then save it.” She reached out and showed him another switch. “This collects holograms. This button turns it on and off, and the last one brings up the holographic control menu to adjust settings.”

“Okay.”

He got the sheep and watched it move about for a while, then switched the emanator off and held onto it. The sky was still grey. Yves was standing a short distance away from him.

“It’s not much," she said placatingly, "but I hope it helps.”

“It does,” he replied, then added softly, “thank you.”

The wind blew into the silence. It stung his eyes. Yves was watching the sky with him, hands buried in the pockets of her thick wool jacket.

“I don’t regret taking that trip out,” she began. “I’m glad … I decided to help.”

“Would you do it again?”

“It depends.” She gave him a brief glance. “But I know there’s still life out there, beyond the city horizon. A place where green things can grow, where people still have good memories and dreams of something … more.”

She stopped just as the wind blew again. It rippled the rows of dead grass so they looked like undulating waves – dead, but somehow standing up.

“Jiwoo once asked me – what’s the difference between memories and dreams? I didn’t know, so she told me. One you hold to the past, one you hold more to the future. Both are ways of keeping track of time. I think that’s quite accurate.”

Yoongi didn’t say anything.

“And I also think that we all need that. We need them to know where we’re going, where we’re headed to ... and - hey," she said, leaning forward slightly to look at him. "Hey, are you alright?"

Yoongi blinked hard and hastily ran the back of his hand all over his face.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said, taking a deep breath and exhaling. "It's just ... I’m just tired. I want to go back."

They moved through the field in silence, to the sound of dead grass rubbing against each other in a sudden dusty squall that smelled like evening rain. He was thankful for the wind at that point, and he turned his face towards it. By the time they got to the road, his eyes were dry again.

“We’re always there if you need help,” Yves promised, before leaving. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will,” Yoongi said, and thanked her again. Then he went back upstairs. He hadn’t spoken to any of them at all, since the day he returned from Wallace.

He went back to cleaning the place up, decided to put something on the cassette player to fill up the silence. The box of old recordings was under the end table beside the Esper. He got to a crouch and dragged it out with a heavy sigh, taking the lid off.

He sorted through the cassette tapes, not really reading the names and paying more attention to the way they were arranged.

And he nearly missed it, but the thing was there, tucked in a corner. He forgot about it.

The inked name in permanent marker on the side. _Jungkook_. He opened the clear case and took the tape out, slotting it into the portable player.

Put the earbuds on.

Hit play.

The sound that came out was a tad too soft. He turned up the volume, heartbeat getting faster.

_\- Am I allowed to begin? Okay. Uh …_

_\- Just say something. Anything._

_\- The electric mouse ... yeah. I pushed it down the chute when I went back for a medical check-up …_

Yoongi listened until he reached the end of the tape, then rewound it and listened to it again.

The voice got him weak at the knees, gave him a kind of shaky ruminating sensation that ran right through where it was supposed to hurt, making him feel more alive than he’d felt in days.

He sank back on the armchair and finally let the tears come.

That night's city walk was spontaneous, unplanned, uncharacteristic of him. He took the emanator and released the sheep outside his door, keeping it to a three-metre radius setting anywhere around him. Then he walked into the elevator and waited for it to catch up.

He switched it off inside the train – he was pretty sure they allowed holograms on the train, but he didn’t know if that also applied to animals, so he hid it just in case. The animal was quiet and didn't misbehave, like a JOI model was supposed to be. He gave it time to warm up to him.

The advertisements on the hologram outside flashed many faces – replicants wanted for coming into the city while infected. Large red signs, their faces blown up to the size of buildings, floating holograms around the city. All around him, the killing was always going on. He couldn’t run away from it.

And Olivia’s face was up there. He glimpsed it every few buildings, plastered to some hovercraft, billboard, or blimp.

Olivia was still on the run in the public imagination, and people could search all they liked but he trusted that her father would bring her somewhere far away. Somewhere where green things grew, and where they wouldn’t be disturbed again.

Now Yoongi was still here, and he still had to walk those mean streets and breathe the polluted air. But at least – at least, it was under something bright and alive. Under lights and dancing holographic people. People who sang even in the darkness and brokenness, all neon-like.

He stopped under a colourful sign fixture to buy his dinner with the holographic sheep in tow, the red and green neon going wild like dappled sunlight on the figures of people who were also waiting outside in line.

That same mean city rose ahead down the street, through the smoky haze, standing up in the rain like a beast that couldn’t die because nobody wanted to kill it. Now it seemed to look right back at him, said, _you’ll be here for a while, so you’d better get used to it._

And he would get used to it, he thought, looking out into all those sparkling lights, spelling out a future he knew nothing about. He would get used to it.

The line moved, like everything else did in this city, breaking his train of thought. He took a step forward, finally pushing through the doors into the warm noodle store, then kept waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [and they dream of sunlight together](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=osBJ035rvBQ)
> 
> a/n: without a beta reader, this fic took me some time to get right (i nearly abandoned it two times in the process of writing) but it's finally done and it says what i wanted it to say, more or less, so that's about it. if you're still here, thank you so much for reading (it means a lot) and have a good day.


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